


can I go where you go?

by estrangedlestrange



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Married Lyatt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2020-10-18 20:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 50,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20645540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrangedlestrange/pseuds/estrangedlestrange
Summary: Lucy had planned on spending her summer working on her next book. Then she found out her sister had signed her up to teach classes on an army base, without telling her. The last thing Lucy had expected was to meet someone like Wyatt Logan while teaching. But she did.A year and a half after the death of his wife, Wyatt decided to enroll in a military history class being offered on base. The last thing he had expected was someone like Lucy Preston to walk into his life. But she did.From that meeting on, their lives were intertwined. They fell in love. They got married. Then, one night, a Homeland Security Agent was at their door asking for their help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen a lot of Married!Lyatt fics and fics with them coming back to the present to find themselves married when they weren't before, but I haven't seen any explore the possibilities of their actions in the past leading to a return to a world where they weren't married. How would the loss of Amy impact them, as a married couple? What about Lucy finding out she's engaged to someone else? And (eventually) Jessica? That's what this fic is going to explore.

She had already planned out her summer. She was going to start the research for her next book, a history of John Wilkes Booth and Abraham Lincoln. A common topic, one she knew there were hundreds of books about. But she knew, especially with some help from her mother, she could bring something new to the well told history. Growing up, she had idolized Lincoln. Now, as a history professor, Lucy Preston felt like she was ready to tell the stories, the different histories, she grew up hearing, to others. Already she had published two books on American history, one on the Spanish American war and one on the Great Depression. But the Lincoln book, that was her passion. Lucy had already planned out her summer, it was going to further her career, get her that much closer to tenure, just like her mother wanted. Then the whirlwind that was her younger sister dropped a bomb, destroying all her plans.

“How could you do this, Amy?” Lucy asked, as she flipped through her filing cabinet, searching for the relevant lectures she needed, “Signing me up for this without even asking.” Her small office, tucked in the depths of Stanford’s History Department, was an absolute mess. She only had a few hours left in Palo Alto before having to make the seven hour drive down to San Diego and she was far from ready since she had learned she was leaving that morning.

Perched on the edge of Lucy’s desk, Amy insisted with a bright smile, “It’s the perfect opportunity for you Lucy! You turned down that position in Ohio, this is the only other way to get you away from Stanford at least for a little while. Being away from mom will do you _good_! And think of all the hot soldiers! You’re gonna have so much fun you won’t even want to come back?”

“Fun?” Lucy snorted a small laugh, “Teaching an eight-week class to a group of officers, against my will, may I add, isn’t my definition of fun.”

“And writing another book with mom is?” Amy prodded.

Lucy rolled her eyes. Her sister meant the absolute world to her but sometimes, especially in moments like this, she wished she was an only child. With that thought, she said, “At least that would help my career, unlike this.”

Again, Amy laughed, “But this could help your life, Lucy. Live a little!”

“How is teaching an elective on American military history to a bunch of soldiers going to help my life?” Lucy asked. Amy just laughed in response.

* * *

The Pendleton Base was doing a series of summer courses for those stationed there. They were optional electives, all eight-week courses, covering various topics. Lucy found the program admirable, a way to educate those who dedicate themselves to serve their country. That doesn’t mean she wanted to teach one of those courses. Yet, because of Amy’s inability to leave well enough alone, Lucy was sitting on the edge of a desk, watching fourteen soldiers and marines of various ranks shuffle into a small, tucked away, classroom.

She was a little nervous about teaching the class, due to how under prepared she felt. Sure, she had taught classes on American military history in the past, but these were soldiers, most likely familiar with the history, as opposed to college freshman who knew only as much as their high school textbooks. Because of the age difference between the men sitting before her and Lucy’s usual students, once everyone was in their seats the first thing she said was, “Welcome to American military history. Since we’re all basically the same age, there’s no need to call me _professor_, or _doctor_, or anything else. Lucy is fine.” She then went into a short spiel about who she was and what the course would be covering. She emphasized the fact that they would be focusing on transformative moments in strategy, technology, and history, as well as battles and figures that are usually left out of the narrative. Once she finished the introduction, she turned to her students, asking them to introduce themselves to her and share why they chose to enroll in the elective. When she reached the final student, Lucy wanted to roll her eyes. He was leaning back in his chair, his chin tilted down, almost resting on this chest, and his eyes were closed.

“Are you asleep?” Lucy asked, annoyed by the disrespect.

“No, ma’am.” He replied, eyes still closed.

Lucy held in a huff and said, “Then please sit up and share, just like the rest of the class.”

When he lifted his head, Lucy was annoyed to find a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. “Yes, ma’am.” He said again, finally opening his eyes, “Master Sergeant Wyatt Logan,” He introduced himself, “I’m taking the class because I pride myself in knowing military history and this seemed like the right way to brush up on those facts.” After a beat the smirk returned and he added, “Ma’am.”

Lucy had only spent one minute talking to him and already felt like she had enough. It took all her years of experience with college students pushing their boundaries to not snap at him. Instead, she responded calmly, “As I said at the beginning of class, there’s no need to call me by any titles. Ma’am included.” From the sparkle in his eye, Lucy could tell he was calling her ma’am knowing full well it would push her buttons. Looking him up and down, Lucy noted the slightly smug look he held, the scruffy not quite regulation lack of shave, and his slightly messy hair, she knew then and there she did not like Wyatt Logan and that he would be a problem in her classroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know, I'm garbage. I have so many other fics to work on and I'm starting a new one for a different fandom instead. I will get back to my Star Wars fics eventually, when I do not know, but with Timeless as my current hyperfixation, I had to write this story. This is just the prologue, the other chapters are going to be much longer. Chapter 1 is done and chapter 2 is in progress. Both will be posted soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucy kicked off her heels as she entered her mother’s house, relieved to be away from Stanford, away from the stress of the day. From the front hall, Lucy could hear the Astros game drifting from the radio and the smell of dinner cooking. Shuffling her feet, Lucy trudged through the house towards the kitchen. Engrossed in both the game and the cooking, the man in front of the stove didn’t hear her come in. Instead of announcing herself, Lucy walked straight through the kitchen towards him. She buried her face in his back and wrapped her arms around his waist, holding tight to his comforting presence.

"Hey, you’re back earlier than I expected,” her husband said. “How did the tenure meeting go?” With her face still pressed against his back, Lucy tried to respond, but all her words were muffled. In response, her husband turned in her arms, willing to put aside the chicken to pay attention to her. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you ma’am.”

With her face now pressed against his chest, Lucy looked up to meet Wyatt’s bright blue eyes. He smiled down at her endearingly and she sighed, tightening their embrace, “It didn’t happen. The committee cancelled it and Jonas didn’t even put up a fight. So much for legacy, huh?”

Pressing a kiss to the top of Lucy’s forehead, Wyatt replied, “I can rough them up for you a bit, if that would help.” She rolled her eyes, that was always his offer. “But I don’t think that would do much good, would it?” He lifted one of his hands from around her waist to cup her cheek, “Instead, why don’t you go upstairs and check on your mom, talk to Amy, and when you come back down I’ll have a glass of wine and dinner ready for you.”

“A large glass?” Lucy asked, looking up at him, starting to smile despite herself.

He nodded, “And I’ll keep the bottle of wine out for you, too.”

Pressing up on her toes, Lucy lifted to give Wyatt a soft kiss. He returned it and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “What would I do without you?” Lucy asked before pulling away to head upstairs.

“Only eat take out?” He offered as an answer.

Lucy laughed as she walked away, feeling a little better just from talking to him. As she walked up stairs, though, her smile faded. Seeing her mother the way she was, sick beyond belief, too weak to be awake let alone talk, made her ache. Her mother, who was once so full of life, the shining example which Lucy followed, was dying. Sometimes, walking into the house, she could almost pretend it wasn’t real. But then she’d see the machines and hear the labored breathing and know the time her mother had left was limited. At least she wasn’t alone, Lucy thought, because sitting in the armchair near her mother’s hospital bed was her younger sister.

Walking into the room, Lucy placed a Snicker’s bar on the growing pile on the nightstand before pressing a kiss to her mother’s cheek. “How’s she doing?” Lucy asked.

“Same as yesterday,” Amy responded with a pained, sad smile, “And the day before.” Lucy sighed. Whenever she came back to her mother’s, which was daily due to the cancer, she asked the same question. Every time the answer was the same, no improvement. It wasn’t as if Lucy expected her to get better. She didn’t. She knew her mother was dying. She just wished for it to be easier for her mother, for her sister, and for herself.

Giving her mom’s hand a squeeze, Lucy looked up at Amy and said, “There’s a hot guy in our kitchen pouring some wine, let me get you a drink?”

“This man, is he single?” Amy asked, standing up, “Because I’m not so sure about having a married man in this house.”

Once downstairs with the large glass of wine Wyatt promised and a plate of dinner in front of her, Lucy shared the news about the tenure meeting with Amy. Like always, Amy’s advice was the impossible.

“Just get out of there, you don’t need this crap.”

“She’s right, you know,” Wyatt added, as he took a swing of his beer. “There’s a thousand schools out there that could be better for you.”

Both of them were dreamers. They didn’t see the bigger picture. “And what we just live off of Amy’s podcast?”

“Ouch,” Amy feigned offense.

"Hey,” Wyatt defended, “SWAT pays me well.”

Amy nodded and gestured towards Wyatt, “See, money doesn’t matter. Lucy, you’re a great professor. Go somewhere you’re _wanted_.”

“That department is mom’s legacy. It’s what I’ve worked for my entire life. So what, I should just throw my whole future away?” As she spoke, Lucy walked around the kitchen island to sit beside Amy.

“Leaving Stanford isn’t throwing away your future, Luce,” Wyatt responded, “It’s changing it.”

Again, Amy nodded. Lucy wanted to sigh, she hated when the two of them teamed up on her like this. They were too similar sometimes. “You need to make your own future. You can’t spend the rest of your life worrying about disappointing mom.” More than anything, the reason she hated when Amy and Wyatt agreed like this was because they were almost always right.

* * *

“How was your bath?” Wyatt asked as Lucy walked into their bedroom. He looked up at her from the book he was reading and smiled. Her hair, still wet, was tied up in a messy bun and she was wearing her usual pajamas, a pair of flannel pants and an old army shirt of Wyatt’s.

“Not long enough,” Lucy replied as she crawled into bed, joining him under the covers. Lifting his right elbow up, Wyatt made room for Lucy to snuggle up against him as he continued reading. She pillowed her head against his chest and closed her eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. “What’re you reading tonight?” She asked, remembering that he had finished the latest Daniel Silva spy novel the night before. Wyatt closed his book to show her the cover. It was a well-read copy of _Dr. No_, the pages were worn and bent at the corners and the spine was fraying slightly. “Again?” Lucy smiled at her husband. As long as they had known each other he had poked fun at her for being a nerd, but his love of spy novels and mysteries proved that he was just the same.

Kissing the top of her head, Wyatt replied, “You know me, never enough Bond in the world.”

Lucy was about but was interrupted by the doorbell. “It’s late for someone to be here,” She said instead.

“Amy?” Wyatt asked.

Lucy shook her head in response, “She’d text first. And use her key. I’ll go get it.” Reluctantly, Lucy climbed out of bed, leaving the warmth of the blankets and her husband’s side. She swung the door open, expecting to see a late-night Amazon delivery or their neighbor with wrongly delivered mail. Instead, standing on their front stoop was a grey-haired man she had never seen before.

As soon as the door opened the man said, “Lucy Preston, I’m Agent Kondo with Homeland Security.”

“Look, whatever you’re selling we’re not buying,” Lucy said and moved to close the door. If this was some wild prank from Amy, she was going to kill her. It was almost eleven at night and she had class in the morning, Lucy didn’t want to waste time on some stranger claiming to be with the government.

He held up a badge, a real Homeland Security badge, “Really,” He said, showing her the proof, “Agent Kondo, Homeland Security. Ms. Preston, you and your husband need to come with me.”

“Is this a SWAT thing?” Lucy asked, thinking it had something to do with Wyatt’s job. She turned to look over her shoulder and was relieved to see Wyatt walking up behind her.

"What’s going on?” He asked, pulling his heavy robe around himself before placing a protective hand on Lucy’s shoulder. His presence settled her a little, despite the bizarre circumstances of a Homeland Security agent showing up at their door in the middle of the night.

The agent directed his attention to Wyatt, “Master Sergeant Logan, I’m—”

Wyatt interrupted, “Agent Kondo, Homeland, I heard. What do you want with my wife? What’s going on.”

“Homeland Security is in need of your and your wife’s expertise,” Agent Kondo directed his attention towards Wyatt but nodded towards Lucy when he mentioned her, “We need your help, now please come with me.”

“Without any explanation?” Wyatt replied, “I don’t think so.” Just as Lucy did earlier, he moved to close the door.

“It’s a matter of national security,” Kondo pleaded. That caused Wyatt to pause.

He looked at the agent, confused and voiced the thought that was running through Lucy’s head, “What type of national security risk would need a historian?”

"Please, come with me and it will be explained to you shortly.”

Wyatt and Lucy exchanged a look. They’d known each other long enough to understand what the other was thinking. Confusion, for sure, but also intrigue and the desire to help. Without exchanging any words, they came to an agreement. Lucy turned to Agent Kondo and nodded, “Okay, we’ll go with you.”

They went back into the house for a minute, to put on proper shoes and for Lucy to grab her purse.

"What is happening,” Lucy asked, almost laughing since she didn’t know what else to do.

Wyatt shook his head in confusion, “I have no idea. Ready to find out?” He said, reaching his hand out towards her.

“With you?” She replied, linking her fingers through his, “Of course.” Holding hands, they exited the house. Wyatt locked the door behind them, before they got into the waiting government vehicles and were driven off into the unknown.

* * *

Getting out of the car, Lucy wasn’t sure what she had expected, but a large warehouse surrounded by cop cars and unmarked vehicles, all with blaring sirens, was certainly not it. Wyatt followed her out of the car and looked around with wide eyes. She could practically hear him thinking, knowing that he was assessing everything around them. In total silence, Agent Kondo led them through the warehouse. Inside the building it was a seemingly normal office building, despite the outward appearance. The couple was led down a few hallways, past a set of cubicles, and up into a sitting room. Kondo held the door open as they walked in and told them to wait there. Unsure what was happening, Lucy turned to Kondo, trying to ask to call her sister. Whatever was happening, Amy should know that Wyatt and Lucy had been commandeered by the government. The agent closed the door in her face, not letting her finish the request.

With a huff of indignation, Lucy turned around to see Wyatt had already settled himself into a chair and closed his eyes. He had propped his feet up on the glass table in front of him. “Seriously?” She asked her husband as she plopped into the chair beside him, “You’re going to try to sleep right now?”

“No, ma’am,” He replied, smirking slightly.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” She sighed, looking around the room. He opened his eyes and his smirk grew a little. Lucy rolled her eyes. She didn’t really hate it. She actually loved it and he knew it. “Is this Connor Mason’s company?” She asked, her gaze having fallen upon the _Mason Industries_ sign.

Sitting up in his armchair, Wyatt leaned over and took his wife’s hand, “Luce, I know just as much as you do.”

“I know, I know, this just all so…” Lucy trailed off. She didn’t even know what word to use. Confusing? Disorienting? Bizarre? She didn’t have time to gather her thoughts because it was at that moment the door to the sitting room opened.

A put together looking woman in a simple suit walked in, “Agent Denise Christopher, Homeland Security,” The woman said, shaking Lucy’s hand. Lucy stood up, feeling slightly dazed, “You’ve got a hell of a reputation,” Agent Christopher continued, “History, Anthropology, you’re world class.”

Lucy shook her head, “I’m just a teacher, my mother’s world-class.”

Rising from his seat, Wyatt nudged Lucy, “Don’t sell yourself short, you _are_ world-class.” Lucy glanced at her husband, disagreeing with him. If she was so world-class her tenure meeting wouldn’t have been cancelled.

Directing her attention to Wyatt, Agent Christopher greeted him as well, grasping his hand in a firm shake, “Master Sergeant Wyatt Logan, Delta Force, SWAT?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He responded.

“Boy, speaking of reputations,” The agent said, “Well, we are on the clock, so follow me. But, hold on to your asses.” Lucy and Wyatt exchanged a look as they followed Agent Christopher out of the room. They were led to a conference room where one wall was entirely glass windows that looked down over the open space of the warehouse below. There were rows of desks and computer monitors and, looking down from above, Lucy was reminded of the pictures she’s seen of Apollo mission control centers. Two of the windows were shattered and caution tape blocked off the open panes.

The wall on the opposite side of the room had a screen on which Agent Christopher was displaying the picture and information of a former NSA asset. She explained who he was, that he had killed his wife and child before disappearing. Agent Christopher switched the display to show what looked like security footage. It showed Garcia Flynn, the wanted terrorist, climbing into a large, futuristic looking object.

“Why’s he taking a Star Tours ride?” Wyatt deadpanned. Lucy nudged his arm and he looked up at her where she was standing. She raised an eyebrow, silently telling him that it wasn’t the time for his snark. They both looked back up to the screen. Whatever Flynn had entered, the door slid closed behind him. A second passed. Then another. The image on the screen flickered for a moment. Then, whatever the thing was, vanished.

Wyatt’s jaw went slack. Lucy raised her eyebrows, no longer judging her husband and instead in absolute shock. “Wh— what the hell was that?” She demanded.

“Some sort of special effect?” Wyatt asked, looking between the screen and the Homeland agent. That was when Connor Mason entered the room. That was when everything Wyatt and Lucy knew seemed to change because they were told that time travel was possible and that it had been invented.

* * *

In shock, Lucy and Wyatt stood, holding hands, watching as a giant mechanical orb was lowered to the ground. Connor Mason, _the _Connor Mason, was pacing behind and explaining that the eyeball shaped machine they were staring at was called the Lifeboat. It was a time machine. Older than the one that Flynn had stolen, but a fully operating time machine, nonetheless. All of the technical things went over both of their heads, but they understood enough. They understood that they were standing feet away from a time machine and a terrorist had just stolen its sister craft.

Letting go of Wyatt’s hand, Lucy walked over to the group of screens Mason was looking at. Wyatt stayed where he was, still gawking at the actual, real life time machine. “3:30 PM, May 6th, 1937,” Lucy read the date aloud.

Agent Christopher stepped forward, letting Lucy know, “We found this on the dead shooter,” She was holding a crumpled piece of paper, “It’s an address, a tavern in Manchester, New Jersey.”

“That’s the Hindenburg,” Lucy said, knowing right away, “About four hours before it crashed.” She looked between Mason and Agent Christopher, praying to for them to break and all admit this was some type of elaborate stunt. The expressions on their faces relayed the severity of the situation. “You’re telling me that this guy actually went back in time, _for real_, to the Hindenburg?” As she spoke, Wyatt walked up behind her and placed a grounding hand on the small of her back. The familiarity of the gesture and his presence alone felt like the only thing steadying her in the absolute chaos of the warehouse and her mind.

“Lucy, if Flynn kills people in '37 who aren't supposed to die, they don't have the kids they're supposed to have, do the things they're supposed to do, history changes.

Reality changes,” Mason said.

She felt like lunging at the man in front of her. How dare he warn her about what could happen when he was responsible for it. She snapped at him, “So why would you be stupid enough to invent something so dangerous?”

Mason balked for a moment before responding, “I didn’t count on this happening.”

“Well maybe you should have!” Wyatt said, “How could you _not_ think about the consequences of a fucking time machine!”

Before Mason could reply to Wyatt, Lucy turned her attention to Agent Christopher and asked, “Why would Flynn do it?”

“We don’t know,” She replied, “But there’s room in there for three passengers.”

“Wait to do what?” Lucy asked, looking between the Homeland Security agent, Mason, and her husband, “To go after him?”

Agent Christopher stared at her blankly and said, as if it was obvious, “Why else would we bring you here?”

For the second time that night, Lucy and Wyatt’s life came to a screeching halt and everything seemed to change. Lucy looked at Wyatt before saying, “We won’t agree to anything until we get a moment to talk, alone.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Wyatt agreed.

Reluctantly, Agent Christopher led them back to the conference room where they had been earlier. She told them they had five minutes to make their decision as they only had so much time. Lucy dropped down onto the sofa in the glass walled room and buried her head in her hands. As the door closed Wyatt made a quipped that having a time machine should give them more time and the agent only glared at him in response. Once alone, Wyatt sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

“This is insane,” Lucy said.

He nodded, “Absolutely batshit.”

“We can’t really be doing this.”

“I think we might have to,” Wyatt replied.

Lucy looked up at her husband, “Why can’t some other historian do it? Why not some other soldier? Why does it have to be us?”

“For one they’ve already told us and I bet briefing another team would take way too long,” Wyatt said in an attempt to lighten the mood. Lucy nudged him with her shoulder, silently asking him for the real reason. “We’re a team, Luce. You and me. If they need a historian and a soldier to be dropped in the 30s, we’re the ones who have to do it. You know everything about the Hindenburg,” Lucy opened her mouth to argue otherwise but Wyatt didn’t give her room to argue, “You do, and you know it. This is batshit crazy and probably not real but if it is, how can we say no?”

“How can we say yes?” Lucy replied.

Wyatt shrugged, “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“You and your Southern soldier moral high ground,” Lucy grumbled at her husband, standing from the sofa. He was right, as much as she hated to admit it. They were the ones there. They had the skills needed. They were already a team. If it was all real, which Lucy still wasn’t sure about, it had to be the two of them. “I hate it when you’re right.”

He smiled, standing up as well, “So, we’re doing this?”

“I guess we’re doing this.”

The moment they opened the door to the conference room, Agent Christopher was upon them for their answer. She smiled when they told her they would do what had to be done before immediately sending them in opposite directions with other agents, telling them something about needing proper attire. It was really only then Lucy realized that, because of when Agent Kondo had first arrived, they were both still in their pajama pants. In one of the cubicles they passed when they first arrived, Lucy was handed a red skirt and a white blouse, as well as a pair of nude tights and brown heels. She put on the outfit, which was completed with a heavy plaid coat that she was almost certain was from Target. Led by another agent, Lucy was returned to the main hangar space where the Lifeboat was apparently being prepped for time travel.

Complaining, Lucy said, “This is all wrong. This skirt is from the '40s. And this blouse? They didn't have this kind of fabric back then. Or underwire bras.”

“No one is going to be seeing your bra,” Wyatt said as he walked up to them. He was in a grey three-piece suit and, if not for the insane circumstances, Lucy would have told him by playing his cards right he would. Especially, considering the 30s style suit looked dashing on her husband.

“It’s all we could do on short notice,” Agent Christopher said.

Rifling through the purse she was given, Lucy pulled out her cell phone. “Look, before we leave, I need to call my sister.”

“You can do that when you get back,” Agent Christopher said, taking her phone from her hands. She replaced it with a slip of paper, “Here’s the address for the tavern.”

“And some money,” Agent Kondo added, dropping change into her still open hands.

“Let’s go,” Agent Christopher said as she began shepherding Lucy towards the time machine. As they approached the Lifeboat, Lucy and Wyatt linked their hands together. Both thinking about how insane it all was. “Don’t be noticed,” Agent Christopher continued, “Don’t change anything. Understand?”

Wyatt helped Lucy up the metal staircase before following her up. She pulled her cap on, gazing around the round machine, as she sat. There were three seats, one at the controls and two behind them. The first seat was already occupied, the pilot, Lucy assumed. It felt as if there were buttons and screens everywhere and she couldn’t help but gawk as she sat down. For a moment, she even forgot her fear, she was so focused on everything else in the machine. Then Wyatt joined her and she realized how tight the space was. They struggled for a moment to sit, as their seats faced each other.

“You okay?” He asked, once she sat down. Lucy shook her head, a little too nervous to talk. “Neither am I.” He assured her

"I’m Lucy,” She said, turning her attention to the pilot as Wyatt strapped himself in.

“Rufus,” The man replied, “I’m the pilot, kind of.”

Anxiously, Lucy asked, “Kind of?”

Before the kind of pilot, Rufus, could answer, Wyatt introduced himself. As he spoke, he buckled himself in. Lucy, meanwhile, was struggling with the harnesses.

“Are all these seatbelts really necessary?” She asked. Wyatt, always the gentleman, leaned forward and started helping her. She smiled softly at the gesture as he gave one last tug to make sure she was secure.

“Oh yeah,” Rufus said, “You’ll see.”

Feeling less than reassured, Lucy glanced around the time machine. It felt like the walls were closing in and she frantically reached forward, grabbing Wyatt’s hand. He gave a soft squeeze and asked, “You okay?” She shook her head and swallowed thickly, praying that she didn’t throw up before they even started moving, or traveling, or however the machine worked. “The claustrophobia?” He asked. This time, Lucy nodded. “I’m right here, ma’am, no need to worry. We’re in this together.” He tightened his grip on her hand with another comforting squeeze.

“Stop calling me ma’am,” She joked, locking eyes with him. As long as they held eye contact, she could breathe. As long as she could focus on him, it was alright. If he wasn’t there, if they weren’t together, Lucy was sure she would not be able to handle the situation. Rufus was flicking switches, making Lucy jump a little as the door rolled closed, sealing them in. Wyatt swiped his thumb over the back of her hand, reminding her that he was there, that it was okay. So focused on breathing, not throwing up, and keeping eye contact with Wyatt, Lucy almost missed Rufus warn them to hold onto something. With her free hand, she grabbed the base of her chair while tightening her hold on Wyatt, causing her knuckles to go white. A loud whirring sound filled the entirety of the small space and the machine began to shake. Lucy started breathing faster, the motion of the space making the feeling of the walls closing in all the more real.

“Hey, just look at me,” Wyatt said, “Just keep looking at me.” Lucy nodded, making sure to match her breaths with his so she wouldn’t hyperventilate. The shaking only got worse. Both Lucy and Wyatt ended up closing their eyes, unable to watch the space around them move so erratically. Then, there was a feeling in her stomach, like the drop of a rollercoaster. She squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could and clung to Wyatt’s hand like it was a lifeline. The feeling lasted longer than on a rollercoaster. Then it was gone. The cabin space stopped shaking. The whirring continued but they were no longer moving. As the whirring slowed, Rufus flicked a couple of switches and finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the door behind them rolled open.

Dropping Wyatt’s hand, Lucy quickly unbuckled herself. Her stomach was churning but she was certain it was from the motion and not the claustrophobia. She looked up at Wyatt. He looked shell-shocked, his eyes were wide, and his jaw was slack. She could tell he felt sick because his expression looked like when he had the flu and kept trying to stop himself from vomiting. “Are you okay?”

“Totally good,” He said.

“Liar,” Lucy said with a small smile, before turning her attention toward the open door. Part of Lucy expected to still be in the warehouse as she went to climb out. Instead, they were outside in a small grove surrounded by trees. It was daytime. Careful to watch her footing, Lucy began to climb out. Her heel got caught in one of the grooves of the Lifeboat and she tripped a little. Rufus followed her out, equally as dazed by their surroundings. Wyatt was still seated, trying to settle his stomach. He followed Rufus out of the ship and his jaw dropped. He didn’t look around in awe like Lucy did, instead he braced himself on his knees, still feeling slightly sick.

That was when Lucy looked up. There, in the slightly cloudy sky, was the Hindenburg. There was a whirr of its motor as it moved gracefully through the sky. It felt unreal.

“Are we here?” Wyatt asked Rufus.

“I think so,” Rufus said, looking around.

“Are you sure?”

Still staring up at the sky, Lucy nodded. “Pretty sure.” She glanced over towards Wyatt for a second before turning back to the aircraft. In just a few hours it would be gone. To her, it had always been gone, just a moment in history. But right then, it was there, still flying. It had actually worked. They had traveled in time.

“Holy shit,” Wyatt said, which Lucy agreed summed up how she was feeling.

* * *

The awe Lucy had felt from walking around the past had faded long ago. It didn’t matter that she was in the midst of events she had only read about, not when they were locked behind bars. Everything that could go wrong on the mission had gone wrong. They were supposed to be protecting history and instead, the Hindenburg hadn’t blown up. She watched her husband kill a man, right in front of her and they had lost Flynn in the confusion. On top of it, she was still fuming at Wyatt for bringing a modern gun back to the 1930s where they were literally surrounded by Nazis who came in with the Hindenburg.

Wyatt angrily shook the bars as Lucy collapsed on the bunk in the cell. They had failed. They were trapped in a 1930s jail cell and Flynn was about to blow up the Hindenburg the wrong way. Rockefeller was going to die, there wasn’t going to be a U.N., no D-Day, no helicopter, the list went on and on in her head. And what about all the other people on the aircraft who were going to die? The ones she didn’t know about, who seem less important to history. Maybe their kids or their grandkids are just as important. The consequence of Flynn blowing the Hindenburg up on its return trip were monumental. History would be irreversibly changed.

“How soon still the Hindenburg leaves?” Wyatt asked, leaning against the bars.

“Just before dawn,” Lucy sighed, “So, pretty soon.”

“Great, we just rot in here while all those people die. While—”

Lucy interrupted, “Kate dies?” Wyatt turned to her, a guilty look on his face. She sat up, and addressed the elephant in the room, “So, what was it Wyatt? You’re not one to do something like that. To get distracted.”

Sitting down next to Lucy, Wyatt let out a defeated sigh. He took her hand in his, his fingers tracing the edges of her wedding ring. “She reminds me of Jess and I just…” He trailed off, looking down at their entwined hands in shame, “I just couldn’t let her die again.” Lucy lifted Wyatt’s hand and pressed a kiss to it. They’d discussed his guilt over Jess before and no matter how often Lucy told him it wasn’t his fault; part of Wyatt would always blame himself. When they had first met, he had been broken. It had been a year and a half since Jess’s death and Wyatt had all but given up on life. He had enrolled in her class as a way to distract himself while on base and they met in the process. Lucy never doubted that Wyatt loved her. She knew how much he loved her, his soft smiles, kind words, and deep laugh made it clear to anyone how much Wyatt loved Lucy. But that didn’t mean there weren’t nights when Wyatt still woke up from a nightmare of watching his first wife die.

“You two seem close,” Rufus said from his separate cell on the other side of the room.

With a quirk of his lips in Lucy’s direction, a silent thank you for her understanding, Wyatt stood up. Lucy stood too, walking towards the end of the cell close to the officer’s desk, watching him with worry as he studied Wyatt’s gun. Wyatt walked back over to the bars where he had been standing before, on the other side of the cell, eyes still roving, trying to find a way out. “I would hope so,” He said to Rufus, “Seeing as we’re married.”

For the first time since they arrived at the airfield, Lucy laughed. Rufus’ raised eyebrows and wide eyes at the realization that he’d been with a married couple all day without even knowing was priceless. Wyatt turned to her, sharing the same smile, when he straightened up, something in his eyes changed. His eyes moved down to her shirt and Lucy sent him a warning glare, being locked in a jail in 1937 New Jersey was not the time for what Wyatt seemed to be suggesting. He smirked as he walked the length of the cell to her.

Lucy was about to snap on him to knock it off when he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I know how to get out.”

Surprised, Lucy looked up at him, “How?”

Instead of answering, Wyatt walked around her, stopping beside her on the opposite side, closer to Rufus. Still whispering, Wyatt hissed to get Rufus’ attention. “Make a distraction.”

Realizing what was happening, Rufus sat up a little straighter, “Um, excuse me,” he said, his voice sounding nervous, “can I get a glass of water, please, sir?”

Still fiddling with Wyatt’s gun, the officer didn’t bother looking at Rufus when he replied, “Swallow your spit, boy.”

Rufus glanced to Wyatt and shrugged. Wyatt waved his hand, telling Rufus to continue making a fuss. With a deep breath, Rufus steeled himself before saying to the officer, “I’m not a boy, actually.” That got the officer’s attention. “You have eyes, right? You can tell I'm not a child, and I am definitely not your son, so don't call me boy.” Standing up from the bench where he had been sitting since arriving, Rufus marched toward the bars of his cell. He was standing straighter than Lucy had seen him and his voice carried a confidence she had yet to hear from him.

Finally putting down Wyatt’s gone, the office stood up and walked towards Rufus, “I’m not sure you realize where you are, _boy_.” He practically spit out that last word, emphasizing it as he glared Rufus down.

“Actually, I do. I'm in the damn Stone Age, but, man, I hope you live a long, long life,” As Rufus spoke, he got louder and more passionate. It was an impressive display of bravery in a racist era, “Long enough to see Michael Jordan dunk, Michael Jackson dance, Mike Tyson punch, really, just, any black guy named Michael.” In the other cell, the couple was shocked. Lucy dropped her jaw in awe while Wyatt lowered his head, holding in a laugh. OJ? Yeah, he gets off. He did it, but we don't care. And Obama, he's the president. 2008. That's gonna suck for you! I hope you see it all. Because the future is not on your side, _boy_.” The officer smiled at Rufus, a menacing sort of toothy grin, and he lifted his hat in a sort of nod. Then, he pivoted on his heels and quickly walked out of the room. Nervously, Rufus looked up at Wyatt, “Okay, so where is he going?”

As soon as the officer left the room, Wyatt spun around to Lucy, “Take off your bra.”

“Wyatt!” Lucy snapped at her husband.

“Your _modern_ bra,” He clarified.

Already moving to unbutton her shirt, Lucy understood, “With underwire, yeah.” She turned around and covered herself with her blouse while reaching behind to unsnap the band. Looking over her shoulder, she flashed Wyatt a wink, noticing his smirk as he watched her. Once her bra was unsnapped, she tossed it behind herself for Wyatt. He easily caught it and brought it to his mouth, ripping the seam so he could get the wire out. As soon as he was done, he tossed it back and Lucy spun back around to put it on. They were moving fast, they had to finish before the officer came back.

Wyatt was in the midst of working the lock when the officer came back in. He wasn’t alone and he was holding a baton. In his cell, Rufus was becoming frantic as the officers approached him. Just as the officers were entering Rufus’, the lock clicked, and Wyatt lunged forward. He took down the second officer while Rufus, using the distraction, grabbed the baton and started hitting the first. They were both down quickly, locked in the cell the guard as the three time travelers fled.

* * *

It felt like the flames were everywhere. The heat was radiating from all directions and the sounds of people screaming filled the early morning’s dark sky. The Hindenburg was on the ground, burning around them, and Lucy was looking around frantically, trying to find Wyatt. If the Hindenburg was burning, that meant the bomb had gone off, Lucy thought, and the meant Wyatt hadn’t been able to disarm it. Her heart was pounding, was he hurt, she wondered, caught in the explosion and already dead? It was amid her panic and the fire that Lucy turned around to find Garcia Flynn, standing in front of her, a gun aimed at her chest.

“It’s time we talked,” He said, gravely. Frozen in place, Lucy felt like she couldn’t breathe, as the terrorist, gun still in hand, approached her, “You need to understand who and what you’re dealing with.”

Holding back her tears and her fear, Lucy replied, “I understand that you’re a psychopath trying to burn everything to the ground.” The still burning Hindenburg, gone because of a bomb he placed, emphasized her point.

Flynn gave a half shrug, “Well, that depends on your point of view, Lucy.”

“How do you know my name?” She took a step closer to him, despite how terrified she was and how uncomfortable she felt with him near. It was her natural response to the shock.

“I know everything about you. Your father's dead. You think you're meant to follow in your mother's footsteps, but you don't really want to.” Her mind was reeling, trying to make sense of what Flynn was saying as he continued, “You wanna know how I know?” He glanced down and Lucy followed his line of sight. In his hand there was a journal, which he held open. It was filled, written in, seemingly by her.

Lucy shook her head, “That’s my handwriting, but I didn’t write that.”

He snapped the journal closed, placing it back in his pocket, and replied, “Not yet. But you will.” Lucy let out a gasp of disbelief, but Flynn ignored her, still talking he said, “I know what you're really meant to be, Lucy, and it isn't a teacher.”

Blinking back tears, Lucy snapped, “Why would I believe anything from someone who killed their own family?”

Flynn tensed at her words, his eyes growing darker and his jaw clenching, “Just ask them why they really chose you for this mission. And ask them what Rittenhouse is.”

“Rittenhouse?” Lucy asked, having no idea what Flynn was talking about. For a moment he looked like he was going to respond, but then he lunged forward, grabbing her. Lucy let out a shocked yell as he forcibly spun her around and pulled her close to his chest. His arm was wrapped around her, putting pressure on her neck. His gun was raised, not pointing at her but ahead, at Wyatt. She gasped; he was alive. A few feet away, Wyatt stood with his gun raised, aimed at Flynn. He was bloody, there was a cut on his head, and his coat was gone, but he was there. Lucy’s hands went up to Flynn’s arm and she struggled against him, trying to get to her husband.

“I know for a fact you’re not going to shoot,” Flynn said, flexing his arm against Lucy’s neck, making it tighter.

She knew her husband. She knew his skill. He could make the shot, “Wyatt,” Lucy begged, stopping her struggle against Flynn. If he just took the shot it would be over, they could go home and pretend none of it had happened. Instead, Wyatt lowered his gun. As soon as the gun was down, Flynn was shoving Lucy in front of him, away from him, and he started running in the opposite direction. Wyatt didn’t even try to fire at Flynn, he focused entirely on Lucy. He caught her in his arms and pulled her close. Lucy shook her head and pushed away, “Go after Flynn,” She told him.

“Are you sure?” He asked, but he was already turning to run after his target.

“Go,” Lucy urged. She watched Wyatt shoved his way through the crowd. Steadying her breath, Lucy moved after him. Every step she took, she reminded herself that he was alive. That he hadn’t died in the flames despite what she had thought. Lucy pushed her way through the crowd of spectators watching the burning remains of the airship. Once on the other side of them she saw Wyatt, standing there, gun no longer drawn. He was looking around, but it was clear Flynn was long gone.

When he turned to look at her, Lucy let out a soft sob and ran towards him. He opened his arms, pulling her into a tight embrace. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” He whispered, before pressing a reassuring kiss against her hair.

Shaking her head, Lucy looked up at him, “_You’re_ okay,” She said, tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. She reached up to him, cupping his face in her hands, “I thought the bomb had gone off, I thought that you were…” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

He tightened the hug, pulling her as close as possible, “I’m right here,” He promised, “I’m not going anywhere, ma’am.” She sniffled against him, not able to put up her usual fight about hating the nickname. He was safe. They both were. With her face buried in the crook of Wyatt’s neck, Lucy only heard footsteps, she wasn’t sure who was approaching. Since Wyatt didn’t react, she assumed it was safe.

“Ready to go?” She heard Rufus ask.

“Yeah,” Wyatt responded.

Slowly letting go of Wyatt, Lucy turned to Rufus. She nodded. It was time to go back home.

* * *

Leaving Mason Industries was a relief. Once outside, Lucy took a deep breath of fresh air. As she released the breath, she found herself laughing. The day was catching up to her, the insane circumstances, the monumental changes, and the fact that after all that, she and Wyatt were once more outside a warehouse in the middle of nowhere, in their pajamas. Moments later, Wyatt’s laugh joined hers and, in the early evening darkness, they stood in the parking lot together, in hysterics. It took a few minutes for them both to calm down, the laughter was a relief and release after the stressful day they had survived.

In the parking lot, waiting for when they finished laughing, were two unmarked government cars. Because they had been picked up from home, they needed someone to drive them. Before leaving the building, they agreed that Wyatt would head home and Lucy would stop at her mom’s first, to check in on her and Amy.

“I’ll see you later,” Lucy said, pressing a quick kiss to Wyatt’s check before climbing into the waiting car. Wyatt said the same as he climbed into the vehicle waiting for him. The driver in her car, a Homeland agent, Lucy assumed, asked where she needed to go, and she gave her mother’s address. As the car pulled away from Mason Industries Lucy settled into her seat and closed her eyes. She released a deep sigh, thinking about the long bath she was going to pull Wyatt into with her when she got home. The drive to her mom’s house felt a lot faster than the drive to Mason Industries had felt from home and before she knew it, Lucy was climbing out of the car.

Entering the house, she called out for her sister, dropping her purse on the chair in the front hall. She had no idea how she was going to explain where she had been to Amy, but it didn’t matter. It was going to be nice just to sit down with her sister and a glass of wine. It had been less than a full day since they had been sitting in the kitchen, talking about tenure, but it had felt like a lifetime. “How’s she doing?” Lucy called, looking upstairs. There was no response. “Amy, I’m back!” She called, wandering further in the house. Amy was probably recording her podcast in the living room again, despite them talking about her needing to find a better spot. Still without a response from Amy, Lucy walked into the kitchen to pour some wine before heading upstairs. When Lucy entered the kitchen, the world came to a screeching halt.

There, at the kitchen island, casually chopping vegetables, was her mother. When Lucy entered, she looked up at her, “Hi sweetheart,” Carol Preston said, unaware that the last time Lucy saw her she was sick in bed, slowly dying of cancer. She had color to her face, she had her hair, she was standing tall, there was no sign of illness at all. Something had happened in the past that led to her mother, being in front of her again, completely healthy. Lucy’s jaw dropped. She never thought she would get to see her mother like this again.

“Mom?” Lucy asked, staring at her in disbelief.

Still preparing the vegetables her mother didn’t seem to register the emotions that were overwhelming Lucy. “What was all that about Amy?” Carol turned to Lucy and pointed at her, smiling slightly, “Please say you brought me a Snickers.” Pausing in her dinner prep, Carol looked at Lucy, at the tears in her eyes and the trembling jaw. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re okay?”

Her mom nodded, “Yes, of course I’m okay.”

It was real, Lucy realized. She was real. Lucy let out a sob and a wide smile spread across her face. Tears of joy rolling down her cheeks, Lucy stepped towards her mom and pulled her into a tight hug. When her mom pulled back to find out why her daughter was crying, there was still a grin straining Lucy’s cheeks. Clinging to her mom, Lucy tried to understand what was happening, tried to explain to herself how the Hindenburg could have caused this, a cancer-free Carol Preston.

After Lucy brushed her hand through her mother’s hair, Carol took her hand and looked at her ring. “Did you get a new engagement ring? What was wrong with the one you already had? The diamond was so nice.”

Lucy’s eyes followed her mother’s. She didn’t have an engagement ring; Wyatt had never gotten her one. He had asked her to marry him spur of the moment one night after she had tried to cook dinner to surprise him and burnt everything. Because he didn’t have a ring when he proposed, Lucy insisted she didn’t need one. That their shared ring was all she would ever need. The only ring she had was her wedding ring, a simple silver band that matched the one her husband wore. “My what?” Lucy asked, not sure what her mother meant.

Concern was evident on her mother’s face as she asked, “Sweetheart, what is wrong?”

“Sorry, it’s just a lot to…” Slowing her breaths, Lucy looked up at her mother. She could figure out the confusion over a ring later. “Where’s Amy?” She asked, more than ready to see her sister.

“Lucy, you keep saying that. Amy who?”

It took a moment for Lucy to understand what her mom said. She didn’t know Amy. If her mom didn’t know Amy, then that meant… “No,” Lucy said, begging her mom to burst into a grin and say she was joking, “No.” Amy had to be there. She couldn’t be gone. Turning on her heels, Lucy marched off to the formal living room where she had originally thought Amy would be, recording another podcast. Her mom followed her into the room, imploring her to explain what was happening. Desperately, Lucy searched the room for any sign of her sister. For her sweatshirt discarded on the armchair or her headphones on the coffee table. There was nothing. Lucy’s eyes fell upon a picture frame. It had always been one of her favorites. Mom on one side, Amy on the other, herself sandwiched in the middle by her two favorite people. But there was no Amy. It was just her and mom. Amy was gone, never have even existed. Looking at the picture, at the spot where Amy should be, Lucy felt sicker than she had in the Lifeboat, despite the motion and the closed space.

“This isn’t right,” Lucy plead, holding up the frame to show her mother, silently begging for her mother to understand, to remember, for Amy to walk in and tell her it was all just a joke.

“Lucy, what are you talking about,” Carol said, placing her hands on her hips, “You’re starting to scare me.”

Before Lucy could respond or even think of an explanation, her phone rang. Agent Christopher was on the other line. Flynn had jumped again and the car was coming to get her. For a moment, Lucy felt relieved, because at least in the Lifeboat she could escape from the nightmare of a life without Amy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the pilot! I hope I changed enough that it was exciting to read. I won't be rewriting every episode like I did for this, but the next chapter is similar for the Assassination of Abraham Lincoln. If you get the chance, share your thoughts! I'd love to know if you liked this or what you would like to see from this story.


	3. Chapter 3

“I assume you know my address, since you basically abducted me yesterday.” He said to the driver as he climbed into the car. When the driver nodded, Wyatt told him that was good, since he was going to sleep the entire ride. Before the car even started, Wyatt leaned his head back and closed his eyes. After the day he had, filled with time traveling, explosions, and guns being too close to his wife for comfort, Wyatt was exhausted. From his time in the army, Wyatt was quick to fall asleep, never guaranteed when the next chance would be, he knew how to make the most of it. He was also a light sleeper for the same reason, just about any change in his environment would wake him up. Which was why, when the car came to a stop, he woke up immediately. The drive felt shorter, he thought as he opened the door.

He was halfway out of the car before he froze. “This isn’t my home,” He said to the driver, “What address is this?” The agent gave him the address and told him that this was the very apartment complex that he had been picked up at the day before. “But I don’t live here,” Wyatt argued with the agent, “There has to be a mistake.”

“Here,” The agent said, pulling open a folder, “This is the address in your official records, this is the address in the GPS,” He continued, holding up a phone, “That is where we are. I bet it’s on your driver’s license if you don’t believe me.” The agent was right, when Wyatt frantically opened his wallet and pulled out his ID, the address was there. Unit 202 in an apartment complex nowhere near his work or Stanford for Lucy.

He pulled his keys out of his pocket and walked toward the building, the agent driving away grumbling about Wyatt. Walking into the foreign building, a terrible feeling of wrongness settled in his gut. The apartment complex was adequate, but it wasn’t the type of place Lucy would ever want to live. It was in the middle of one of the sketchier neighborhoods, not bad per say, but not the type of place Lucy would have wanted them to settle. Aside from the status of the neighborhood, it was also too far from both of their jobs. Then there was the building itself, it looked outdated and underkept, the grass was a little too tall to be mowed regularly and the brick was worn down and colorless. He climbed the stairs, searching for unit 202. When he found it, the feeling in his stomach seemed to solidify, turning to stone. Right under the peephole there was a label. It read W. Logan. There was nothing else. There was no L. Preston. Nothing suggesting that somebody else lived there.

With a turn of the key, Wyatt entered the apartment. It was all wrong. The place barely looked lived in. There was nothing on the wall, no knick-knacks anywhere. All the furniture looked like the least expensive IKEA options. There was nothing personal anywhere, no books, no pictures, no trinkets. Lucy’s shoes weren’t lying, knocked over, next to the door where they belong. The hall closet wasn’t left open revealing her overabundance of coats. There were no bookshelves stuffed beyond capacity with history books, none of her pages of scattered lecture notes, not even a post-it reminding him to buy more coffee. Every inch of the apartment seemed lifeless and dull. There was no sign of Lucy anywhere.

Going door to door down the hall, he opened them, praying to find something familiar, something of Lucy’s, in the apartment where he apparently lived. The closet only had his coats, the bathroom only had his toiletries. But the bedroom was the worst. With only one set of drawers, a bed with a gray comforter, it was clear he lived alone. Hanging on the wall directly across from the bed, there was a crime board that mapped out Jessica’s murder. He froze, staring at it. Something they did in the past had changed the present. Something they had done made it so he had never met Lucy. Looking around the apartment, it was obvious, they had never gotten married. The Lucy and Wyatt of whatever timeline they were now in didn’t know each other.

Frantically, Wyatt reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone to call Lucy. It rang, as soon as he had it in his hand, it started ringing.

“Lucy?” He asked, “Is that you?”

“This is Agent Christopher, Flynn jumped again. The car is coming back to get you.”

“Don’t bother,” Wyatt said, “I can drive myself.” Unlike the day before, he made sure to change into appropriate clothing. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt before grabbing his car keys and heading for the door. He had to click the lock button a couple of times to find the car, which turned out to be a pickup truck that he could see a different version of himself, in a world without Lucy, buying. Wyatt pulled out of the apartment parking lot a little faster than he should have, desperate to get back to Mason and figure out what could have happened so that he had never met his wife.

* * *

Entering Mason Industries, Lucy was frantic. She ran through the building, tearing down the hallway to the warehouse. Bursting through the doors, Lucy scanned the rows of desks, hoping to see Wyatt. He wasn’t there, but she did spot Rufus.

"Where’s the fire?” Rufus laughed, not aware of the panic that had been coursing through Lucy since she had walked into her mother’s kitchen.

“What’s changed in your life?” She demanded, needing to know what else had changed. Rufus seemed confused so Lucy clarified, “Since we got back from 1937, what has changed for you?”

Shrugging, Rufus joked, “I just had an unsuccessful evening with a girl, so nothing really.” Seeing the desperation in her eyes, Rufus asked, “Why? What’s wrong?”

Before Lucy could respond, the doors to the hangar slammed open. She spun around to see Wyatt rushing towards her. Without a second thought about Rufus, Lucy hurried to Wyatt, throwing herself into his waiting arms. She grasped the lapels of his jacket before running her hands over his face, taking a moment to confirm that he was really there. Lucy distantly heard Rufus asking them what was going on, but in that moment, Wyatt was all that mattered.

“Something happened, Luce,” Wyatt said, sounding as distraught as Lucy felt. There was a lump in Lucy’s throat, and she couldn’t talk, completely consumed by her need to cling to her husband. “Something changed. Because when they took me home it wasn’t to our house it was some random apartment that apparently, I live in _without you_. Lucy, I don’t think we’re married.”

Tears sprung to Lucy’s eyes but didn’t fall. It made sense. If Amy never existed, they never would have met. Their entire life together had vanished along with her sister. “Amy’s gone,” Lucy told him, meeting his eyes, “She’s gone, Wyatt.”

Not fully understanding, he asked, “Gone?”

“Gone as in erased from history. Something that Flynn did, or we did to the Hindenburg has changed our family. Amy’s gone. Mom isn’t sick anymore, but Amy was never born.”

“And without Amy…” Wyatt understood, reaching the same realization Lucy had moments before.

Nodding, Lucy finished what he was saying, “We never met.” While Lucy and Wyatt were holding each other, only beginning to grasp the severity of the situation, Connor and Agent Christopher approached, joining the time traveling trio. Looking between Lucy and Wyatt, the Homeland Security agent told them that their dossier had Lucy listed as an only child and that the two of them had only just met the night before. Lucy stepped away from Wyatt, grabbing her locket as she did so. Snapping it open she showed Agent Christopher and Connor Mason definitive proof of both Amy, whose picture was on one side, and her nuptials, which was on the opposite side. Instead of being concerned about the nonexistence of her sister, Connor was focused on her locket switching between timelines and remaining the same. With a quick slap of his hand, Wyatt shamed Connor for his excitement.

“Whatever changed, you have to change it back,” Lucy demanded, “Change it back.” Beside her, Wyatt nodded his head, agreeing. Amy was like a sister to him, she radiated such enthusiasm for everything, she was impossible not to like. She was just as much his family as Lucy’s.

Denying Lucy’s demand to right the wrongs from their previous trip, Agent Christopher shook her head. “I’m sorry, Lucy, but Flynn is hours ahead of us, we don’t have time for this.”

“Why not!” Lucy cried out.

Wyatt agreed, gesturing behind them, “We have a fucking time machine, we should have all the time in the world!”

Agent Christopher raised her tone of voice in response to the couple, “Flynn could be decimating history right now. Our reality could change like that any second. You need to go.”

Not willing to give up on the fight for her sister, Lucy continued arguing, “Not until we figure this out.” In that moment she sounded as she felt, broken. Amy was gone and the only people who could do something about it didn’t seem to care.

Something softened in Agent Christopher’s eyes and she stepped towards Lucy. Protectively pulling Lucy against him, Wyatt blocked her. “You dragged us into this and now Amy is gone. You can’t expect us to jump straight back into that thing!”

Instead of continuing the fight, Agent Christopher informed them, “Flynn went back to April 14th, 1865.” Underneath Wyatt’s arm, Lucy stiffened when she heard the date. She knew the date by heart. She had written a book about that day. Amy was gone and rather than bring her sister back, she was about to travel to one of the darkest days in American history. “Now you need to get moving and you, Master Sergeant, need to eliminate Garcia Flynn. Are we clear?”

Shrugging Wyatt’s arm off of her, Lucy headed towards the stairs. He called after her, asking why she gave up the fight so easily. Asking her what was so important about that date. Stopping for a moment, Lucy gripped the railing tightly and glanced at her husband, “The assassination of Abraham Lincoln.”

Her mind reeling, Lucy walked up the stairs, heading towards the conference room from the day before where Agent Christopher told her a period appropriate outfit was waiting. One of the techs followed after Lucy to help, nineteenth century women’s clothing was difficult to get in alone. As Lucy left the hangar, she felt Wyatt’s eyes boring into her. They would talk later, she told herself, and figure all of it out. First, they had to preserve history.

Behind Lucy, as she tightened the laces of the corset, the tech offered to figure out what happened to Amy. The words seemed empty to Lucy; the offer seemed impossible. But, the woman, Jiya if Lucy remembered correctly, explained that since they knew what point in history was changed, she could start her search from there and figure it out. Tears sprung to Lucy’s eyes for what felt like the millionth time since Kondo knocked on her door the other night. She turned around. “You would do that for me?”

Jiya’s response was a small smile before going back to helping Lucy into her dress. It was enough, the bit of hope that she had just offered. Neither of them spoke for the rest of the time it took for Lucy to get dressed, but something had changed between the two women. They were a little less like strangers and a little more like friends. Lucy smiled at her as she left the room, a silent thank you.

Unsurprisingly, Wyatt was finished getting ready before Lucy. He was already strapping himself into his seat when Lucy got to the Lifeboat. As much as she loved history, Lucy was quickly learning she did not enjoy wearing historical dresses. She was finding the large hoop skirt difficult to move in. Clumsy under normal circumstances, climbing into the Lifeboat was a challenge. Already buckled in, Wyatt couldn’t get up to help her, but he reached out a hand for her to steady herself on. Once in the time machine, Lucy shifted her skirt, unintentionally hitting Wyatt in the face with it. He laughed, smacking it away, as Lucy struggled to sit down. With a quick flick of his wrist, Wyatt unbuckled himself. Leaning forward, he took the straps on either side of Lucy and snapped them together over the large skirt. With a tug, he made sure it was tight enough, before sitting back and doing the same for himself.

Secured, Wyatt reached forward and took Lucy’s hand in his own. Her wedding ring was missing, He looked up at her with concerned eyes. “A woman wouldn’t wear a ring like that in the nineteenth century, it’s on my necklace, don’t worry.”

“I always worry,” He said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “How’re you doing?”

“I was really hoping we wouldn’t have to get in this damn thing again,” She confessed, stroking her thumb across the back of Wyatt’s hand.

Sighing, Wyatt made an impossible promise, “We’re going to get Amy back, Lucy, I know it.” Neither one of them was sure they believed his words.

* * *

Logically, Lucy knew Wyatt had been shot before. Her fingers had traced his scars countless times, hearing his stories and kissing his pain away. The knowledge didn’t make seeing him get shot any easier. He was insisting he was fine, that it hadn’t hit anything important and in 2016 it would be patched up in minutes. But they weren’t in 2016, they were in 1865 and he was clutching his side, with his hand covered in blood, and grunting in pain. He dropped to the bed with a grunt, promising Lucy he was fine as he did so. She knelt beside him, putting pressure on his wound murmuring softly that if he died, she would take the time machine and kill him again out of anger. Lucy almost cried with relief when Rufus came into the hotel room with the supplies needed for Wyatt.

From where he lay, Wyatt said, “Rufus, you’re up. My knife’s in my pocket, you gotta sterilize it over the lamp.”

Looking between husband and wife, Rufus asked, “Um, what?”

Understanding what Wyatt was asking, Lucy reached for his hand, “You can’t be serious.”

“The bullet’s still in there,” Wyatt explained, “It’s just under the skin but you gotta take it out.”

“Are you crazy?” Lucy all but yelled.

“Why me?” Rufus asked at the same time.

As if it was obvious, Wyatt replied, “Because you work with your hands.”

“Yeah, on circuit boards.”

“Think of me as a circuit board that’s gonna die if you don’t help.”

Rufus glanced down at Lucy, ready to ask her to do it, “There’s a reason doctors can’t treat their family and I think this would be worse.”

“Plus, she faints at blood,” Wyatt added, “It’s gotta be you.”

Reluctantly, Rufus took Wyatt’s knife. From his rucksack he pulled out the other items Wyatt had sent him to get. Beside the lamp on the bedside table he placed a bottle of whiskey and a spool of string. He lifted the glass away from the lamp’s flame before putting the knife into the fire. While he prepared, Wyatt and Lucy discussed Flynn’s plan. Having read his wife’s book, Wyatt knew about the larger conspiracy that John Wilkes Booth had planned. They were both horrified when they realized, with modern automatic weapons, Flynn could be attempting to make the once failed plan succeed. Lucy listed the names of the targets, of their significance, how their deaths would make the present unrecognizable.

“Okay, so how do we stop all that?” Rufus asked, standing over Wyatt with the knife ready.

“One problem at a time,” Lucy replied, “Grant takes a train out of town at 6:00. I need to make sure he's on it. You take care of Wyatt.” She turned to Wyatt, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Please don’t die.” He smiled against her lips, promising that she’d see him later. Rising from Wyatt’s side, she turned to Rufus, “Don’t kill my husband.” Then, with nothing more than the swish of her skirts, Lucy left the room.

The last thing she heard as the door closed behind her was Rufus warning Wyatt, “This is gonna be the worst game of operation ever.”

* * *

Flynn was one step ahead of them again. The train that was supposed to take General Grant out of Washington had been sabotaged. Which meant the future president was going to be joining Lincoln at the play and be directly in the line of fire. Lucy tried to tell herself that it would be alright since she had, albeit unintentionally, been invited to the play as well. How she was going to tell her wounded husband that Robert Todd Lincoln had asked her on a date, Lucy wasn’t sure. But at that moment, that seemed like the least significant problem of the day because she was once again face to face with the terrorist they were chasing.

She didn’t know he was there until she heard his deep accented voice behind her, “We really have to stop meeting like this, Lucy.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Lucy took a moment to summon what courage she had. She then spun around and hissed at the most dangerous man she had ever met, “You son of a bitch. You shot my husband! My sister is gone, disappeared, because of something _you_ did to the Hindenburg.”

"It’s war, I lost my whole family.”

Lucy scoffed, “Because you murdered them.”

“Rittenhouse murdered them.”

Taking another step forward, Lucy countered, “I asked about Rittenhouse and no one’s ever heard of him.”

Shaking his head, Flynn replied, “Rittenhouse isn’t a him, it’s a they. And that’s why I’m here: to right some wrongs.”

“By shooting half of Washington?” Lucy asked, “By trying to destroy America outright?”

Flynn almost looked offended at Lucy’s accusation, “I’m not trying to destroy America. I’m trying to save it!” The anger ebbed from his voice and he softened his tone, meeting Lucy’s stare, “Lucy, one day you are going to help me.

Glaring him down, Lucy replied, “Or what? You’ll kill me?”

Now, instead of angry or offended, Flynn seemed sad, as if Lucy’s rage hurt him, “That’s not a threat,” He said, “It’s your future. So, accept it and stop trying to interfere.” Anger returned to his voice on the last word, sending chills of Lucy’s spine. He seemed unhinged, like he was something broken and whoever tried to fix it only made it worse.

“What are you going to do? What does this have to do with Rittenhouse?” She

raised her hand towards him, waving a finger in his face, “Tell me!”

He grabbed her wrist with a ruthless grip and this time what he said was undeniably a threat, “Don’t get in my way again.” Forcefully, Flynn threw Lucy’s hand away from him. Without another word, Flynn left, leaving Lucy standing alone at the train station, confused and angry.

* * *

Juggling her purse and a box with her dress for the play, Lucy struggled for a minute with the door. When it swung open, she was relieved to see Wyatt awake. He was stitched up, not as well as a doctor would have been able to do, but well enough considering the circumstances.

“You’re okay,” Lucy said, dropping her things to the floor as she hurried to his side.

“And… you went shopping?” He asked, looking at the box.

Carefully, Lucy sat on the bed beside Wyatt. She sat on the side opposite his injury but was still worried about jostling him too much. “How are you feeling?” She asked, carding a hand through his hair as she did so.

“I’m fine,” Wyatt said, despite wincing has he moved to sit up a little more, “Nothing Rufus couldn’t handle.”

Rufus shook his head, disagreed, “It was a lot Rufus couldn’t handle and I will not be doing _that _again.” He then looked at the box sitting on the ground where Lucy had abandoned it. “Why did you buy a dress?”

Sighing, Lucy admitted, “Robert Lincoln invited me to a play tonight.”

“A play?” Rufus replied, “You mean _the _play?”

At the same time, Wyatt turned to her and asked, “Are you saying the president’s son asked you on a date?”

Ignoring Wyatt’s comment, Lucy explained, “General Grant’s gonna be there tonight. Flynn sabotaged his train.”

Wyatt jolted a little, finally sitting up fully on the small twin bed. He grabbed her hand and asked, “You saw Flynn? Did he hurt you?”

Shaking her head, Lucy told both men that she saw him leaving the train station. She glanced at Wyatt from the corner of her eye, feeling guilty for not telling him that they spoke. But telling him that Flynn had threatened her again, that he had made promises of a future Lucy never wanted to see, would only make the situation worse. He had been shot, stitched up without any pain relief or antiseptic measures, and still had a politician to protect from assassination. The last thing Wyatt needed was the added stress of his wife having conversations with the terrorist they were chasing around time. Moving on from Flynn, Lucy explained that with Grant at the play, she had to be there too. An early death of Ulysses S. Grant could be catastrophic to American history. She didn’t have much of a plan but, while buying her dress she also bought two guns. There was a twinkle in Wyatt’s eye when she held them up and she could practically hear him singing her praises. He was too busy wrapping himself with bandages to say anything out loud, as each move he made he was holding back a wince from the pain.

Since reaching 1865, Rufus had made it clear that he didn’t want them to just let Lincoln die. He had been arguing that they could change history for the better, that they had the chance to make a difference for all the people of color to ever live in America. Lucy understood where he was coming from, but she couldn’t agree. Lincoln’s assassination was a turning point in American history, it united much of the country after the Civil War and, despite how terrible it was, led to how the reconstruction after the war occurred. If Lincoln were to live, they would return to a different America, a different world, probably. Looking at the guns Lucy had placed on the empty bed, Rufus brought up the subject again, “And I assume with all that, we're gonna save everybody but Lincoln? All you have to do is open your mouth to save him. And you're just gonna let Booth shoot him in the head?”

“Do you think any of this is easy for me?” Lucy replied, “My whole life, I’ve idolized Lincoln. When I was a little girl, I would memorize his speeches.”

Taking a step towards her, Rufus urged, “Well, then do something.”

More than anything, Lucy wished she could do that. But again, she explained to Rufus, “We would come back to an entirely different world. Who knows if it would be better or if there would be anything left to come back to at all? The present isn’t perfect, but it’s ours.” They had been sent to the past to preserve history, not change it however they saw fit, “Awful as it is, what happens to Lincoln is meant to be.”

Standing up from the bed, Wyatt slowly made his way over to Lucy. He placed a hand on her arm, turning her to look at him. Lucy knew he didn’t believe in fate, she knew he wanted Lincoln to live just as much as Rufus did, but what he said next still surprised her, “Lucy, think for a minute. We just lost Amy, are you just gonna sit next Robert Lincoln and let him lose his father?”

Shaking her head, Lucy didn’t know what to say to her husband. She knew how heartless she must have seemed to both men, but she wasn’t going to change her mind. They had to protect history, even if it meant Lincoln had to die. It was the last thing she wanted, but it was what she had to do.

Conversation in the room died down after Lucy failed to respond. When they did talk, it was only about the plan for the night, who had to protect who and where to meet afterwards. As the afternoon faded into evening, Wyatt kept glancing at Lucy, waiting to say something, but she avoided his gaze, not ready to talk. Once it was late enough, Lucy rose to change dresses. Thankfully, she didn’t need to change corsets, so she was able to pull the other dress over what Jiya had helped her into, no need for Wyatt or Rufus to help. She wasn’t sure if either of them would have wanted to after their talk about saving Lincoln. When the knock at the door came, letting them know Robert Lincoln was waiting for her, Lucy felt like vomiting. Heart pounding in her chest, she stepped out from behind the divider she had used for privacy while changing.

She walked up to Wyatt who, despite their fight, smiled at her in the dress. “You look lovely, ma’am.” He assured her, noticing her fidgety hands.

“That’s not what I’m worried about, Wyatt.” She said, putting her hand out for the gun he had loaded and ready for her. “You’ll save Secretary of State Seward?” She asked, when Wyatt nodded, she turned to Rufus and continued, “And you’ll save Vice President Johnson?”

“Yeah, we got it,” Wyatt said.

She looked down at Wyatt, where he was sitting. With the heavy bandaging and shirt he was wearing, she couldn’t see his wound. But she knew it was there, she had seen the blood and bullet hole herself. “Please, be careful.” She wanted to say she loved him, but she wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it at that moment.

“You too,” Wyatt said, with a squeeze of her hand. Meeting his gaze, Lucy could tell he was thinking the same thing.

Sighing Lucy went to leave the room. Rufus called to her, making her stop for a moment, “Just think about who you save.” His words followed her out of the room like a shadow, darkening every step she took.

* * *

“Wyatt!” Lucy gasped when he came up behind her on the street. She threw herself in his arms, momentarily forgetting about his wound. Being face to face with Flynn’s gun for the second time had been terrifying. Watching her hero be brutally murdered, despite her attempted warning, had been heart wrenching. But worrying about Wyatt as he went to protect the Secretary of State was the worst part of the night. She had never been so nervous during his SWAT missions. On his assignments he had back up, he had kevlar vests, he had better weapons, but when time traveling, it was just him out there alone. She had been terrified for him, knowing that he wasn’t up to full capacity because of being shot earlier that day. The oof he let out when she slammed into him, reminded her of said wound and she quickly pulled back. He stopped her from going too far, grabbing her forearms to keep her close.

His eyes roved over her dress, focusing on the blood, “Are you hurt?” He asked, concerned.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” She promised, as he reached up a hand, cupping her cheek. “I’m safe, Grant’s safe, and Rufus said Johnson was safe, too. Seward?”

“Safe,” Wyatt replied. That was when Wyatt seemed to realize whose blood it had to be if Lucy wasn’t hurt. His eyes widened, understanding what had happened. She opened her mouth, about to tell Wyatt and Rufus that she tried to save him, tried to protect the President. But the crowd around them started pushing towards Ford’s Theatre, screaming for answers about what happened to Lincoln. She noticed Robert Lincoln, looking dazed and bloodied, just like herself, on the steps of the theatre. Wyatt followed her gaze. “We have to go,” He said, knowing that they had to get out of there before more questions were asked. Lucy nodded and, with Wyatt’s arm holding her close to his uninjured side, let herself be led back to the Lifeboat.

There was a somber feeling hanging in the air as they got situated in the time machine. Rufus informed them that Flynn had returned to the present, but that didn’t matter. His plan had already been thwarted, as much as possible, and Lincoln was dead. Turning back to the control panel, Rufus started flipping switches to start the travel sequence. He turned around when Lucy confessed, “I decided I was gonna let it happen. But then I called out to warn him. It was too late,” Lucy looked towards Rufus, silently begging him to understand how much she wished she could have changed it, could have been faster, could have saved him. He looked away. Lucy knew he understood, but she kept talking, needing to get her emotions out, “It’s one thing to talk about history like this abstract thing, but the man gets shot right in front of you…” She trailed off for a moment, not sure what else to say. Then, she said the only thing she could say, “I tried.”

Silently, Wyatt reached forward and gripped her hand. She clung to it, tightly, relishing in the comfort. With a pained smile, she held back tears. It was going to be alright, he promised without words, when he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. After a moment, Lucy nodded. She was well enough to go. Again, Wyatt leaned across the space between them to secure her harness before doing his own. As with the other three times in the time machine, the three passengers were jostled around their seats. Wyatt let out a painful cry when he was thrown against his chair and his wound made contact. Once back in the future, Lucy urged Rufus to open the door as she rushed to undo Wyatt’s harness. He almost fell out of his seat but Lucy caught him and pulled him along to the door. Because of the tight space she couldn’t help him out and she gasped in horror when he half collapsed to the ground.

“Wyatt needs a doctor,” Lucy screamed, jumping down to the floor to help him. A couple of the techs raced forward and helped Wyatt up. Trailing after them, Lucy stayed close to her husband. After everything, she wasn’t going to leave him alone.

“Whose blood is that?” Agent Christopher asked as Lucy hurried past without even acknowledging her.

“Abraham Lincoln’s.” Rufus said, as Lucy had already left the hangar towards the infirmary.

* * *

Exhausted, both physically and emotional, Lucy wanted nothing more than to go home. Everything had been piling up since learning about time travel. Her sister was gone, she had never married her husband, and she had just witnessed the assassination of her hero. And the blows hadn’t stopped coming. While Wyatt was being stitched up by a medic, Jiya had pulled Lucy aside to let her know what she had discovered. It was a simple and shocking truth. If her parents never met, which Jiya discovered was the case in the new timeline, then her father wasn’t actually her father. Her whole life had been a lie. Once he was cleared by the doctor, Lucy told Wyatt the difficult realization. He wrapped her in his arms, whispering how sorry he was. Sniffling slightly, Lucy asked him to take her home. He reminded her, sadly, that their home didn’t exist anymore. With that in mind, they decided to go to his apartment.

Because of the pain meds Wyatt was finally on, Lucy drove. When she finally pulled up to the apartment complex, she inadvertently grimaced. Wyatt let out a laugh, even though it irritated his stitches, telling his wife that he knew she wouldn’t like the place. Parking the car, Lucy disagreed, insisting that the place was fine as long as they were together. She linked her fingers with Wyatt’s as they walked into the building, to emphasize her point. Once they reached his unit, Wyatt stopped.

“Lucy, I need to warn you…” He trailed off, not sure how to tell her how pitiful the other him’s life seemed without her in it.

Snatching the keys from his hand and going to unlock the door, Lucy joked, “What, not ready to have the missus crash the bachelor pad? Am I gonna cramp your style?” She swung the door open and the smile faded from her face, “Oh.” She said softly as her eyes raked over the empty apartment.

“Looks like my life was pisspoor without you,” He said, leading her into the apartment. Outside the bedroom door, he paused again, “It gets worse. Without you, I guess I never got over Jessica’s murder. There’s a crime board in the bedroom.”

Eyebrows raised, Lucy turned to Wyatt and asked, “A crime board?” He gestured to the door, telling her to see for herself. Despite the strange and slightly upsetting circumstances, Lucy let out a snort when she saw the wall covered in articles, police reports, pictures, and string. Smirking, she glanced at Wyatt, where he stood in the door frame, ashamed even if it wasn’t _that_ him who had such a morbidly decorated bedroom, “This looks like it’s from an episode of Criminal Minds.”

Wyatt smiled at her reaction and joined her where she stood. “Made by the unsub or the BAU?” He asked.

“Both,” She replied.

"We should take it down,” He said.

Lucy nodded, already moving towards the small trash can in the bedroom, “We should definitely take it down.”

After the crime board was cleared from the wall, a long hot shower that they shared, and a dinner of Chinese takeout, they returned to the bedroom and crawled into bed. Wrapped in a pile of blankets and wearing a pair of Wyatt’s sweats and a t-shirt, for the first time in days, Lucy felt relaxed. Everything almost felt normal. Being in bed together, grumbling about having to be on the wrong side of the bed so she wouldn’t aggravate his wound, and holding each other, she could finally breathe. Absentmindedly tracing patterns across Lucy’s back, Wyatt seemed just as content to be together.

With her head pillowed against Wyatt’s chest and the steadying sound of his heartbeat beneath her ear, Lucy was almost asleep when Wyatt confessed into the dark room, “I feel bad for him.”

“Who?” Lucy asked, craning her neck to look up at him.

“The other me,” He said, “Who never met you. I’ve always known I was lucky to meet you, that you saved me, but this proves it. He, I, was miserable without you. I never healed, never moved on. You saved me, Lucy.”

Tilting her chin up a little more, Lucy captured Wyatt’s mouth in a sweet kiss. “I don’t even know what the other Lucy was like,” She paused for a moment and added, a realization washing over her, “I don’t even know where my stuff is in this timeline, but that’s beside the point.” She softened again, leaving the question of where her things were for another time, “But I’m willing to be any Lucy without you would have been just as miserable.” Again, Lucy kissed him. It was longer than the one moment before, less sweet and more needy. Kissing her back, Wyatt rolled over, laying his body over hers. Against his lips, she whispered her concern about hurting him more. Kissing her deeply, Wyatt told her not to worry. Any fight she had left her as he began to trail kisses down her neck, each one promising what was to come next, each one saying how much he loved her, how much he needed her. Carding her hands through his hair, tracing his muscles down his back, and arching against him, Lucy was telling him the same thing. It was going to be okay, because unlike the other Lucy and Wyatt, they had each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And there you have it, the Assassination of Abraham Lincoln. The next chapter is done, it's a little shorter than this but that's because it doesn't cover any in show events so it was a little challenging. I like posting only after I finish the next chapter, so the wait will be about the same for chapter 4, if not a little longer since it Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur are coming up. If you get the chance, please review, I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	4. Chapter 4

Blearily blinking the sleep out of her eyes, Lucy rolled over to check her phone. Spread across her screen were numerous notifications, eleven missed calls from her mother, seven from somebody named Noah, and a combined six voicemails from them both. Then there were the texts, too many to count, all asking where she was, if something had happened, and if she was hurt. Glancing to her right, Lucy saw that Wyatt was still asleep. One of his arms was flung across his face, covering his eyes, while the other was reaching towards Lucy, having been around her before she woke up. There was a chill in the air and Lucy grabbed Wyatt’s robe from where it hung behind the door, pulling it tightly around herself as she went to the living. Wyatt needed to sleep, and she wasn’t willing to wake him unless necessary.

Lucy settled herself onto the couch and opened the first voicemail from her mother. The first message was just her mother asking where she was, sounding angry rather than worried. Next was a message from the unknown Noah, he sounded concerned, asking if she was stuck at work and to let him know what was happening. There were two more messages from him, each sounding more worried and upset than the one before. Her mother’s next voicemail shook Lucy to her core. She was complaining about Lucy being late to her own engagement party. Clicking her phone’s lock button, Lucy stopped the message. Her mother’s comment from the other night about her ring made sense. The Lucy from this timeline, that had never met Wyatt, was engaged to someone else. Most likely Noah, considering his final voicemail ended with him saying how much he loved her. Hearing someone other than Wyatt made her stomach churn from the wrongness of it.

Hurrying into the bedroom, Lucy nudged Wyatt on his good side, waking him up. He just groaned and rolled over to his good side to bury his face in the pillow. Again, Lucy nudged him, hissing his name. Usually, Wyatt was a light and an early riser, sleeper from his years in the army, almost always waking up before Lucy, but because of the pain meds he was on he was still knocked out. With a quick tug, Lucy pulled the pillow out from underneath Wyatt’s head and he finally mumbled her name as he blinked himself awake.

“Wy, we have a situation.” Lucy said, not sure how to tell her husband that she was engaged to a stranger.

Rubbing at his eyes, Wyatt started to sit up. He turned to Lucy where she was perched beside him and asked, “What time is it?”

Lucy shook her head, “I dunno I didn’t check, I was too focused on the, like, fifty messages on my phone.”

Brow furrowed, Wyatt asked, “Did we sleep through another jump?”

“No,” Lucy replied, “Apparently I slept through my engagement party, though.”

“Your what?” Wyatt exclaimed, suddenly fully awake.

Phone in hand, Lucy showed Wyatt the texts from the mysterious Noah and her mother. She played a few of the voicemails, too, purposely skipping the one where Noah said he loved her. After the last voicemail played, Lucy waited with bated breath for his reaction. Jealousy was one of Wyatt’s vices. As long as they had known each other it was something he had actively worked on to limit, telling Lucy in a soft voice how it was his fault Jessica died, all because he was a jealous bastard and he wouldn’t let the same happen to her. But jealousy was something he still struggled with and Lucy wasn’t sure how he would react to his wife being engaged to another man.

His reaction, though, was gentle. Placing one had over hers, he lowered her phone so he could focus on her. With his other hand, Wyatt brushed a stray curl behind her ear before cupping her cheek. Softly, he asked her what she wanted to do. In no uncertain terms, Wyatt made it clear that their next steps were her choice. The caress of his hand, the love in his eyes, it was all so sweet, so Wyatt, that Lucy’s heart ached. She loved him so much. She always would.

“I want to marry you,” Lucy said, pressing a kiss against Wyatt’s palm. He smiled at her and she added, “I don’t ever want to be in a timeline where I’m not married to you.”

His grin growing, Wyatt leaned forward and, with his hand still reverently holding her cheek, met for lips for a deep kiss. “When’s the wedding?”

Feigning being casual, Lucy shrugged and sent Wyatt a sly grin, “I’m not sure, I mean, I need to check my calendar, schedule you in.” She sighed heavily before saying, her eyes glittering with love and mischief, “How does this afternoon at the courthouse sound?” Wyatt’s response was another passionate kiss and slowly positioning himself above Lucy. It was early enough, the afternoon was far enough away, Lucy thought as she lay down, clinging to Wyatt as she did so.

* * *

Their second wedding was nothing like their first one. Their first wedding was planned well in advance, though much closer to the engagement than her mother wanted. Six months after their engagement, they got married. The short engagement was due, in part, to her mother’s deteriorating health. It was important to the couple that Carol was there and healthy enough to enjoy the celebration. Being in mid-March, the day had a slight chill. Wyatt always insisted it was perfect because the weather, like his bride, took his breath away. The wedding was intimate with the guest list mainly composed of Lucy’s family and colleagues with a few friends from Wyatt’s former squadron.

Lucy wore a floor length sheath dress, it had a classic look to it, with delicate lace details starting from the waist and moving up to compose the neckline and sleeves. When she first stepped down the aisle, Wyatt teared up. Much too slowly, she was led down the aisle with her mother on one side and Amy on the other. Out of everything, everyone he had ever seen, as she walked towards him, he knew without a doubt she was the most beautiful. When she finally reached him, Wyatt nearly threw decorum and proper wedding tradition to the wind to kiss her right then. They exchanged personal vows, promises to pick the other up when they fell, to struggle together and never apart, and to love each other no matter what the future was to bring. Their first kiss as husband and wife felt like coming home.

After the ceremony, there was a reception. Filled with laughter, dancing, and a toast from Amy that couldn’t have been more embarrassing, it was an incredible night. The newlyweds were surrounded by people who loved them but, aside from Lucy and Wyatt, nobody remembered.

Their second wedding was celebrated with a trip to Target. While Wyatt went to the courthouse to file for a marriage license and schedule the fifteen minutes they needed with a judge for their nuptials, Lucy was shopping. He had dropped her off outside the store and, once he had the license, came back to help with shopping. They had a long list of things they needed to buy, such as groceries for Wyatt’s poorly stocked kitchen, decorations for an otherwise empty apartment, and clothes for Lucy.

Insisting that she needed a white dress, she went straight for the women’s department. Living in California meant sundresses being sold year-round and Lucy found a simple white dress that ended just below the knees. With a deep v-neck and a sash around the waist, the dress was perfect for a courtroom wedding. After finding her impromptu wedding dress, Lucy stayed in the clothing department. She pulled from the racks pairs of jeans, shirts, and other dresses. Being in a new timeline, Lucy still did not know where any of her possessions were and she had no plans of spending another day in clothes borrowed from Jiya and Wyatt. Once her cart was full, including the bras and underwear she so desperately needed, she met Wyatt at the front of the store to check out. Wyatt’s truck made packing their purchases into the car easy and soon enough the couple was driving to the courthouse, ready to be married again.

For their first wedding, Lucy got ready that morning with her mother and sister by her side. Makeup was carefully done, hair was styled with a veil delicately placed on top, and she took time to stand in the mirror and let the magic of the moment sink in. For their second wedding, Lucy got dressed in the courthouse bathroom. Running late because shopping took longer than either of them had anticipated, Lucy barely had time to pull her hair back into a loose ponytail let alone be sentimental. The only person by her side was Wyatt, who was waiting outside the ladies’ room for her.

For their first wedding they had a ceremony officiated by a friend of Wyatt’s from his time in the Delta Force. It was a personalized experience. For their second wedding, they were the fifth couple in line for the afternoon slot. Every word said was standard, the judge marrying them wouldn’t be able to tell them apart from the couple before or after. There was no lifting of the veil or customized vows. It took more time for the judge to verify their identities based on driver’s license and social security numbers than it took for the ceremony to be performed. In less than ten minutes, Lucy and Wyatt exchanged the rings they had been wearing for over a year and were, once more, pronounced husband and wife. Their second wedding was nothing like their first wedding, but at the end of the day they were man and wife, which was all either of them truly cared about.

* * *

“Hi, mom,” Lucy sighed into the phone when Carol answered on the first ring. She listened patiently as her mother worried about her, asking repeatedly where she had been and if she was alright. When Carol finally paused to let Lucy answer, the lie that she had planned came out smoothly, “I know I missed the party mom, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t help it. A close friend got hurt, seriously hurt, and I had to be with them.” Lucy had to pause there as her mother ranted about what friend it could have been, since all her friends were at the party she missed, “They’re someone I met recently, but they didn’t have anyone else to help them. I needed to be with them, I couldn’t leave them alone. You raised me better than that,” Her mother, still displeased with Lucy missing the party, seemed satisfied with the explanation. “And I would have called sooner, but I forgot my phone charger and it died. I didn’t have the chance to plug it in and call you until now.” Accepting Lucy’s story, Carol switched to talking about how worried Noah was. Lucy had to bite back a groan at the thought of her mystery fiancé, “I know Noah was worried, mom. I got his messages, too. I don’t have time to call him now, my friend is waking up, but how about I meet him at your place tomorrow morning, and we can all talk?”

Unbeknownst to Carol, Lucy was discussing missing her engagement party while pacing back and forth in the bedroom she shared with her new husband. Wyatt was lounging on the bed, arms behind his head, and holding back laughter as he listened to one side of Lucy’s conversation. Each time their eyes met Lucy had to suppress her own laugh. Part of Lucy felt like she should feel guilty about lying to her mother, about being engaged to a stranger while married to Wyatt, and about being happy, despite Amy vanishing. But the rest of her was just enjoying the moment. The past couple of days had been so hard, so terrifying, so life changing, that it was nice to just be with Wyatt, laughing.

Sighing with relief, Lucy finally ended the call with her mother. Immediately, she spun around and collapsed on the bed with a groan.

“That bad?” Wyatt asked. He was leaning against the headboard, a small smirk on his lips and eyes shining with love.

Rolling onto her stomach so she was facing Wyatt, Lucy nodded, “So bad. Last time I heard her like that was when Amy told her she was starting the podcast!”

Wyatt winced, remembering that fight. Despite Carol already being weakened by the cancer at that point, the fight was brutal. It ended with Amy crying and telling her mother she would chase her dreams with or without her mother’s approval. Part of Lucy ached for her sister, especially remembering that moment. Lucy had never been able to stand up to her mother, it was always Amy who forged her own path. That was different thanks to the timeline change, Amy was gone, and Lucy was the one going against her mother’s wishes.

“I wish she was here,” Lucy said softly, almost to herself.

“I know,” Wyatt replied, reaching for her hand, “I miss her, too.” After a moment of quiet as they thought about Amy, Wyatt gave Lucy’s hand a tight squeeze and shot her a bright smile, “I got you something.”

Sitting up, Lucy gave Wyatt an incredulous look, “You got me something?”

He nodded, still grinning, “A wedding present.” As he spoke, he leaned over to the nightstand beside him and opened the drawer. Turning back to Lucy, he had a white gift bag in his hand that he passed to her. She looked at him, with a raised eyebrow, wondering what he would get her to celebrate an impromptu courtroom wedding.

Cautiously, Lucy reached into the bag. Tears instantly welled in her eyes when she pulled out the gift. She gasped softly, a hand landed on her chest and closed in a tight fist around her locket, as if to brace herself. In a simple brown wooden frame was Lucy’s favorite picture of Amy and her. They were both looking at the camera, their eyes crinkling at the corner as they laughed. Amy’s head was resting on Lucy’s shoulder and their arms were around each other. With watery eyes, Lucy looked up at Wyatt. He smiled at her in return and told her there was more. Reaching back into the bag, Lucy pulled out a matching frame. This frame was holding a picture of Lucy and Wyatt on their original wedding day. The newlyweds were holding each other and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. Both pictures were ones Lucy knew well, as she kept them close to her heart at all times, literally, as they were the two she kept in her locket. When she looked at Wyatt again, he was offering his hand to her, his fist closed around something small. He opened his hand and, resting on his palm, were the pictures from her locket.

“I took them from the locket while you were in the shower,” He said as she took the small pictures back and tucked them into their proper place, “I figured if we wanted to make this place a home, this would be a good place to start.”

Both frames were laying in Lucy’s lap and her hand still clutched her locket, but she looked up at Wyatt with watery eyes and a bright smile, “It’s perfect. You’re perfect. I love you so much.”

Careful of his side, still bandaged and aching from the bullet and stitches, Wyatt crawled across the bed towards Lucy. He kissed her slowly, reveling in the way she melted against him. When he pulled away, he smirked at her, “I’ll remind you that you said that next time I mess up.”

“So later tonight then?”

“Probably,” He laughed. Pressing his lips against Lucy’s in another deep kiss, “I love you, too, by the way.” In response, Lucy moved the picture frames to the side. She reached up and cupped Wyatt’s face with her hands, kissing him again and again and again as she wondered how she ever got lucky enough to marry such a sweet man twice.

* * *

Standing on the front steps of her mother’s house, Lucy was terrified to use the key she held tightly in her hand and actually open the door. The unfamiliar car parked in the driveway told Lucy what she already knew, the fiancé she had never met was inside. Nervously, her eyes flicked to Wyatt, who stood by her side. He still looked pale and a little weakened from his healing injury, yet he sent her a reassuring smile, “Whatever we face on the other side of that door can’t be any worse than Garcia Flynn, right?”

With Wyatt’s words ringing in Lucy’s head, she nodded, steeled herself, and opened the door. She called out for her mom, letting her know she was there. Noise drifted from the kitchen of chairs moving. Barely a second passed before Carol was coming down the hallway and pulling Lucy into a tight hug, both berating her for disappearing and being thankful she was there. When Lucy pulled back from the hug, she felt her mother stiffen, finally noticing Wyatt. Lucy didn’t have time to introduce them, because once she was out of her mother’s embrace, she was being pulled into a hug from a stranger. Gasping, Lucy looked up at the man in front of her. Noah, she knew his name was, but that was all she knew about him. In a different timeline Lucy could understand how she fell in love with him. With dark hair and bright blue eyes, he was attractive in a way very similar to Wyatt. If Lucy had never met Wyatt, she could have very easily ended up with him. Clearly her mother liked him, which meant he had to be a good person. Knowing just that much, Lucy could almost imagine that. Except, she had met Wyatt and she was, thankfully, married to him again. Still in Noah’s arms, Lucy almost panicked when he leaned down to kiss her. Turning her head to the side, she just managed to for his lips to land on her cheek instead. Eyes darting to Wyatt for help, Lucy stepped away from Noah, holding back a nervous laugh.

Once Lucy was out of Noah’s embrace, Carol turned to her, her eyes still on Wyatt with a look of disdain. “And who is this?” Her mother asked.

It was bizarre to introduce her mother to Wyatt a second time, but Lucy put on a brave smile and replied, “This is Wyatt, he’s who I was helping the past couple of days. His appendix burst and he needed someone with him.”

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Wyatt said, reaching forward to shake his mother-in-law’s hand.

Carol ignored Wyatt’s outstretched hand and turned to Lucy. “You missed your own engagement party for _him_?” Wyatt dropped his hand limply to his side, the smile on his face faded a little and he was clearly holding back his offense.

“Mom,” Lucy admonished, horrified at how rude her mother was being to Wyatt. In the original timeline, when they had first met, Carol had been a little icy towards Wyatt. She had wanted someone of, in her words, a higher caliber for her daughter. But as she got to know Wyatt she grew to, at the very least, appreciate him and enjoy his company. But even at her worst, Carol had never treated Wyatt so poorly. “I care about Wyatt and he needed someone by his side! You raised me to be there for those in need and Wyatt needed me.”

At the same time, Carol scoffed, telling Lucy that helping people didn’t mean abandoning important prior commitments, Noah looked at her, hurt in his eyes and asked softly, “You care about him?”

Lucy froze, she didn’t even know the man in front of her, but she still dreaded that she had to break his heart. “Wyatt, why don’t you and my mom go into the kitchen and get to know each other. Noah and I need a moment alone.” Begrudgingly, Carol left the front hall. Wyatt followed her, looking at Lucy concerned. She nodded at him, encouraging him to go on and that she would be okay. Once alone, Lucy went to sit down on the steps, gesturing for Noah to do the same. He followed and sat beside her, looking down at the floor.

“I found this on your nightstand the other morning,” He said, pulling an engagement ring from his pocket. It was unfamiliar, like so much in the new timeline, but it was clear that the ring was hers. Unlike how she could almost picture a different Lucy with Noah, looking at the ring, she couldn’t imagine any version of herself liking it. The diamond was large, almost comically so, and surrounded by a row of smaller diamonds in a line that ends halfway down the band. Lucy looked down to her own hands, the simple silver band that matches Wyatt’s wasn’t there. They had agreed that, while Lucy was going to end the engagement with Noah, it wasn’t the right time to share the news they had eloped. Both of their rings were safely tucked away in his shirt pocket. His blue eyes pierced her as he asked, “You aren’t going to put it back on, are you?” The sadness that laced his words made Lucy ache, even without knowing him.

“Noah,” Despite practicing the difficult conversation with Wyatt earlier that morning, Lucy couldn’t think of what to say.

Beside her, Noah shrugged, “People don’t miss their engagement parties if they want to get married, Lucy.”

Reaching out to close his hand around the ring, Lucy whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Noah nodded as he rose from the stairs, “I hope he’s worth it,” He said, inclining his head toward the kitchen, toward Wyatt, “I love you, Lucy, and what we have is something special. You shouldn’t throw it away for nothing.”

“I’m not throwing anything away, Noah,” Lucy replied, “I’m making a hard decision for both of us. But I know we won’t be able to keep each other happy and we both deserve to be happy.” Lucy rose from where she sat as well and followed Noah to the bottom of the stairs. “I’m going to go talk to my mother. Could you give Wyatt your address while we talk? We’ll come by after to get my stuff.”

Something darkened in Noah’s eyes as he sneered, “You really are leaving me for him. After everything—”

Cutting him off, Lucy warned with a glare, “Watch what you say about, Wyatt Logan.” Noah took a step back and raised his arms to signal defeat, but Lucy still didn’t like the look in his eyes. She turned away from him and walked to the kitchen, angry at her fake ex-fiancé and the situation she was tasked with.

The kitchen was silent when she entered. Both Wyatt and her mother were sitting at the island but on separate ends. Carol was giving him an icy glare while Wyatt, who usually had perfect soldier posture, seemed hunched a little, as if trying to make himself smaller. The relief evident on Wyatt’s face when he saw her confirmed Lucy’s fear, Carol had almost certainly verbally eviscerated him, insulting him in ways Lucy could only imagine. She had heard her mother on a tirade before, her words could lash like a whip. Knowing that Wyatt had to sit through that, for her, made her heart ache.

“Mom, can we talk?” Lucy asked. When Carol nodded, Lucy turned to Wyatt, “Can you wait in the hall? Noah’s gonna give you his address so we can…” She trailed off, not ready to say to her mother that they were collecting her things. Just like her mother, Wyatt nodded. As he walked past her to leave the kitchen he slowed. He flexed his hand, restraining himself from giving hers a reassuring squeeze, but their eyes met, and that lingering moment was enough for Lucy.

Even with Wyatt out of the room, the tension was palpable. Carol was looking down at her hands, which were clenched together, her knuckles white. “Have you lost your mind? Skipping your engagement party, hanging around with this...this _man_, that night you came home, raving about some person I’ve never heard of, and disappearing for days! What has gotten into you?”

“I’ve started a new job,” Lucy started slowly, taking a seat at the counter beside her mother, “A consulting position. It’s classified so I can’t tell you what it’s about,” She added, noticing her mother was about to ask what the job was, “I have to keep odd hours for it, which is why I’ve been disappearing. And I’ve...” Lucy paused, looking for the right wording, “Changed because of this work. I’m different. And who I am now, who I am now won’t make Noah happy. And he won’t make me happy. So, we’re ending the engagement.”

Carol shook her head, “I won’t let you destroy your life because of that Wyatt. I won’t let you throw away everything you’ve worked for, everything we’ve worked for, for some stranger.”

“I’m not throwing anything away,” Lucy replied, repeating the words she had said to Noah minutes before, “Especially not my life. The work I’m doing now, it’s important. It’s the most important work I’ve ever done. It’s the first time I’m choosing my own path, mom, and whether or not you want me to, that isn’t going to change my decision. Noah and I aren’t getting married. I’m taking a sabbatical from Stanford. This is the right thing for me, the best thing for me. I need you to understand.”

“No,” Carol said, her voice icy and her eyes angry, “I won’t accept this. I won’t let you do this.”

“You don’t have a—”

Cutting of her daughter, Carol snapped, “Then get out. Get out and don’t come back until you make the right choices, Lucy. I won’t have you tarnishing our legacy! And if you’re going to be this reckless, this rebellious, I won’t have you in my house.”

Tears sprung to Lucy’s eyes, but she held her ground, “Fine,” She replied, marching toward the front hall where Wyatt and Noah were standing awkwardly, not making eye contact, “Fine! I won’t be here! Kick me out of your life! That won’t change my decision!” Without glancing at either man, Lucy stormed out of the house. If not for Wyatt following her, the door would have slammed behind her. She marched to his truck, holding back tears that were burning at the corner of her eyes. Barely able to see, Lucy climbed into the passenger seat. She all but collapsed as she broke down, tears flowing freely as she wept. After climbing into the driver’s seat, Wyatt turned to her, wrapping his arms around her shaking form and whispering soothing words against her ears. It took nearly half an hour for Lucy’s sobs to turn to silent whimpers and she told Wyatt to start the truck. It was time to get her things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited to share this chapter with you guys. It is the first one in this story that has no scenes from episodes so it's entirely my own thoughts on how Lyatt would interact. If you enjoyed it and get the chance, please review! They always make my day. I'd especially love to hear your thoughts on Carol's reaction to all of this. I'm really excited to explore a different Carol&Lucy relationship in this world. As with the previous chapters, I'm posting this one because the next chapter is finished and I've started the one following that. The next chapter is Castle Valar, as I'm skipping Atomic City because I don't think there's much that I could add/change in that episode in this universe.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said in the author's note for the previous chapter, I'm skipping over Atomic City, so this chapter is based on Castle Valar.

In the span of one week Lucy had learned time travel existed, been to three different decades, been in multiple gun fights, gotten married, broken an engagement, and been all but disowned by her mother. And those are just the highlights, leaving out smaller details such as witnessing a presidential assassination, hearing Frank Sinatra sing in person, and nearly crashing into a car that carried a nuclear core. After everything she had been through, Lucy wasn’t ashamed to admit she was relieved when Wyatt was called in for a tactical mission because they had located Flynn. With the combination of his Delta Force and SWAT team experience, although in their new timeline he technically never left the army, Wyatt had the skills and diligence needed for the assignment. Everything could end, all the time travel and madness that had composed the past week, with one attack on Flynn’s warehouse. Together, Lucy and Wyatt had gone to Mason Industries. While he got suited up, Lucy spoke with Jiya. She could nearly kiss the techie for narrowing down Flynn’s location just by searching the power grid. It was Jiya who kept Lucy company when Wyatt and the rest of the tactical team left. It was also Jiya who informed Lucy that the raid failed, her computer console that they were sitting at immediately alerting them to a jump by the Mothership.

Tension coiled in Lucy’s stomach when the notification of the jump came. If the Mothership jumped, then Flynn escaped, and if Flynn escaped, had something happened to the tactical team? The wait for a call from Agent Christopher felt like torture. Lucy was pacing back and forth, her heart pounding, barely hearing Jiya promise that Wyatt had been okay. Worrying about Wyatt was normal for Lucy, since meeting he had been deployed to Syria and then joined SWAT. But before working for Mason Industries, she never knew the details of his assignments. She knew what he faced was dangerous, deadly even, but that was very different than knowing all the intricacies of what he was up against. Ever since Agent Kondo had shown up at their door, Lucy felt worried. She worried about Wyatt, about Amy, about herself. When the call came that the tactical teams was alright and they were going through what Flynn left behind, Lucy sagged against Jiya in relief. For a moment, anyways, a little bit of the fear ebbed away. But only for a moment.

While waiting for Wyatt and Agent Christopher’s return, the team at Mason Industries set to work discovering the when, where, and why of Flynn’s jump. A chill seemed to run down everyone’s spine when Rufus yelled out that he got the date and location: 1944, Nazi Germany. With Wyatt informing them that there was no sign of the atomic core stolen from Las Vegas, it was clear that Flynn was in the midst of World War II with an atomic bomb a year too early. The terror Lucy had felt returned in full force, no longer worried about Wyatt and instead worrying about the whole world. If Flynn moved quickly, he could hand off an atomic bomb to the Nazis before the Lifeboat followed. History would change, the Nazis could win, and they would be none the wiser of the real events. With the where and when figured out, Lucy delved into what she knew about the region. The only thing she could remember or find through quick research were spotty reports of a potential ally spy in the area. She only stopped when Wyatt arrived at the warehouse.

He entered the hangar, still wearing his tactical gear. As soon as Lucy spotted him, she was out of her seat, hurrying towards him. She was flinging herself in his arms in an instant, not even giving him time to put down his things. His helmet dropped to the ground with a thud when he wrapped his arms around her tightly. With him whispering against her neck that he was alright, Lucy’s rapid heartbeat slowed for the first time since Wyatt had left for the raid.

* * *

Something seemed off about Lucy and Wyatt wasn’t sure what. He was worried about her. She had been tense ever since their first mission, with good reason, but whatever was going on seemed more than that. When they were walking through the wardrobe dock, he watched her jaw tense and her eyes darken for a moment. While grabbing his disguise from the German section of the dock, because of course Mason went so overboard he had sections for each country and era, Wyatt grabbed Lucy’s hand. He asked her if she was okay and she nodded, smiling tightly at him. She promised that she was still calming down after the raid, but Wyatt didn’t believe her. Something was wrong and she wasn’t telling him.

After changing, Wyatt couldn’t find Lucy. Rufus was in the Lifeboat getting it prepped, but Lucy hadn’t joined them in the hangar again. He went back to the wardrobe, looking for her, and froze when he saw her. She was staring into the mirror, but Wyatt was willing to bet money that she wasn’t actually seeing anything. Her eyes looked distant, unfocused, dazed. He had seen that look before, but never on Lucy.

“Hey,” He asked, walking up to her, “Are you okay?”

She jolted in response, as if he startled her. Nodding, Lucy tugged on her shirt and adjusted her lipstick. It seemed to Wyatt like she was only going through the motions. He wanted to say more, wanted to tell her he knew she wasn’t okay, to make her talk to him, but he didn’t know what to say. Instead he pressed a kiss to her cheek and told her he’d meet her at the Lifeboat. Again, Lucy nodded, but Wyatt wasn’t sure if she had actually heard him. Unable to express his worry to her, when they sat down in the Lifeboat, he leaned forward to strap her in. Wyatt had always been a man of action, words being one of his weaker skills. Strapping her in was his silent way of saying he loved her, that he was there for her, that he’d protect her. Quirking the corner of her mouth, Lucy silently thanked him. Whatever was going on in the wardrobe room seemed to have passed, she was fully there with him as she talked about how to signal to the allied resistance that they were there. That didn’t quell Wyatt’s worry for her, though.

* * *

Logically, Lucy knew being dropped into the middle of 1944 Germany meant that there would be Nazis. Meant that she would have to face Nazis, interact with them much more than she ever did on that first mission to preserve the history of the Hindenburg. That knowledge had not, in anyway, prepared her for a Nazi soldier being there, right as the Lifeboat hatch rolled open.

“Oh, my god,” She said, her eyes widening at the sight of the young soldier staring at their time machine with a gaping jaw. Everything seemed to freeze. The world felt like it was narrowing in around Lucy. Her eyes struggled to focus, her heart was racing, there was a Nazi, right there in front of her. She wanted to scream but she felt like she couldn’t move, could barely breathe. Shock faded to action simultaneously. The Nazi began reaching for his rifle that was strapped across his back but Wyatt, thankfully, was faster. Pulling the gun from his shoulder holster, Wyatt quickly took down the Nazi with a single shot.

While Lucy and Rufus were still strapped in their seats and reeling from the would-be shootout, Wyatt leaned forward towards the hatch and warned, “No way he’s out here alone.” She was far from a military historian, but Lucy knew her husband had to be right. They were on high alert as they started making their way through the German forest that surrounded them. Wyatt led the way, his gun in front of him, ready to fire. As they reached a bridge, they came across another Nazi. His back was to them. He didn’t know they were there, they could turn around, find a different path. Lucy started to ask Wyatt what they were going to do when he fired his gun. Without any hesitation, Wyatt ran forward and started searching the Nazi’s pockets and pulling what could be useful.

Lucy hurried after him, in shock both by being in proximity with another Nazi and from Wyatt’s quick actions. She hated Nazi, of course she did. And she knew how Wyatt felt about World War II history, with his grandfather Sherwin coming close to being captured by Nazis multiple times. She understood the desire to kill Nazis. But they should still protect history. They can’t just kill in the past. It could have unforeseen consequences, change things in ways that they couldn’t predict. Like after the Hindenburg after they lost Amy.

“Protect Nazis?” Wyatt replied to her.

She snapped at Wyatt, angry that he would believe she wanted to protect Nazis, “No, I’m just saying there’s a bigger picture here!” He was too idealistic. Things were too black and white for him; they always had been. As long as she had known him, he had been like that. He and Amy had that in common, seeing the world without the complexities that seemed to plague Lucy’s mind. That idealism wasn’t an issue before, it could be annoying, but it was more often endearing. But with time travel in the mix, being idealistic put the future at risk. Things weren’t that simple, they never were, and they had to preserve the past, even if it meant letting bad people live or good people get hurt.

They didn’t have time to continue the discussion. With a car approaching, Lucy, Rufus, and Wyatt had to quickly drag the dead Nazi off the road and out of sight. Hiding on the side of the road, Lucy’s heart plummeted at the sight of a missile being driven past them. This was terrible.

* * *

For a moment, Lucy could almost forget they were in the middle of Nazi Germany. The utter elation that Wyatt was radiating was intoxicating. Despite the circumstances and the need to be covert, he was practically bouncing on his toes on the way to the car. Meeting Ian Fleming, one of his personal heroes, had Wyatt lighting up like a child on Christmas day. With Fleming driving and Rufus in the front passenger seat, the husband and wife sat together in the back of the car for the ride to the safehouse. The entire ride, Lucy watched Wyatt with a small smile on her face. He was trying to hold back a massive grin and was bouncing one of his legs because of the excess energy coursing through him. His excitement, which Lucy shared to a lesser degree, was contagious. Being in a car with James Bond himself was unbelievable, it was incredible, and for a moment Lucy was able to forget the negatives of time travel.

The time travelers had a moment alone when Fleming went to change and get them a bottle of port. Lucy took the chance to explain that Fleming as a good spy, that they were lucky that he was the MI6 member they stumbled across. With a quirk of her lips, Lucy joked, “Wyatt Logan, are you a Bond fan?”

“I am,” Rufus replied, looking into the other room, waiting for Fleming to return, “Love the movies.”

“And the books,” Wyatt said, winking at Lucy. He paused for a moment and added, “I wish I had my copy of _Live and Let Die_ with me, imagine getting that signed!”

Rubbing her neck, Lucy hissed at her husband, “Isn’t published yet,” just as Fleming entered the room. With the spy joining them, the discussion changed from his yet to be written books to the matter at hand, Flynn and his nuclear weapon. Putting aside his seeming disbelief at the idea of a working atomic bomb, Fleming shared his intel with the trio. He pulled out of his pocket a well-used map and pointed out a location, Castle Valar, where there had been a lot of Nazi activity recently. The name of the castle struck Lucy, it seemed familiar, but she couldn’t recall from what. Apparently deciding the conversation was done after Rufus said he could disarm the bomb, Fleming uncorked the bottle he brought in, pouring a generous amount to drink for all four of them. Wyatt downed his in a single gulp, while Rufus barely took a sip. Lucy, however, did not touch her glass.

Lifting her glass towards her, Fleming held eye contact with Lucy and said, “It’s bad form to leave a poured glass full.”

Smiling politely, Lucy took the offered glass. She took a small sip as Fleming left the room. The wine was sweet and Lucy had to restrain herself to down the drink just as Wyatt had. Inebriation seemed preferable to facing Nazis with nuclear bombs.

From behind her, Lucy heard Rufus whisper to Wyatt, “Dude, James Bond just hit on your wife.” Glancing over her shoulder, Lucy saw Wyatt clench his jaw. Apparently, his adoration of Fleming wasn’t enough to quell his natural jealousy. If she was feeling better, Lucy probably would have given him a reassuring smile, but the idea of marching through the German countryside to a Nazi launchpad had her mind reeling. She took another sip of the wine, steeling herself, as she tried to calm her racing heart.

* * *

Things, like it always seemed, got worse. On the first mission it was the Hindenburg landing, the second Wyatt getting shot, the previous one was probably the worst, with Flynn escaping with a nuclear core. After meeting Fleming, Lucy had convinced herself that the mission would be smooth sailing from there. They had a plan to disarm the missile. History would be safe, the nuke would be out of Flynn’s hands, and they would return to 2016, problems solved. If they were lucky, Wyatt would even be able to neutralize Flynn along the way. But that wasn’t what happened.

The radiation detector, which Lucy did not fully understand but Rufus vouched for, did not detect the atomic core. There was nothing nuclear about the missile, it was a standard 1944 Nazi rocket, no added 60s weapons to be found. Which was partially good, Lucy thought. At least they weren’t standing feet away from a nuclear weapon. Rufus pointed out that there was no way a rocket could be armed in time for the launch that night, which meant the nuclear core was still unaccounted for. It also meant, which Lucy voiced, “Maybe we’re wrong about why Flynn’s here.”

They didn’t have time to discuss Lucy’s realization on the launchpad because, as soon as she shared her thought, a Nazi convoy came roaring up the road. As soon as he heard the sound of the engines, Wyatt went into action. Ordering everyone to move, he motioned to a spot to hide on the opposite side of the clearing. As Rufus started moving, Wyatt grabbed Lucy’s arm, pulling her along with him. He pushed her lower to the ground before dropping down himself, his hand steadying her as they both knelt out of view. His hand was reassuring to Lucy, pressed against the small of her back and keeping her close to him as they hid. It was his hand clenching into a fist that told her Flynn was there, even before she saw him step out of the car, herself.

His hand only left her back when he reached into his bag. Her breath hitched when she saw him pull out his silencer, but she remained silent. She was there to save history, but Wyatt was there to eliminate Flynn. Prepared to let Wyatt do what needed to be done, Lucy focused on her breathing. With one shot this would all be done, the churning in her stomach would be done, and she would never have to feel the tightness in her chest that had become the norm when time traveling. Then someone stepped forward, blocking Flynn from Wyatt’s sight. Despite, or maybe because of, their earlier fight about not killing Nazis, Lucy was going to let him take the shot. It would be worth it, one more lost person added to the collateral damage of time travel to stop it all. But as Wyatt aimed, Lucy stared more at the man in the line of fire. His back was straight, his hair well-trimmed, and he looked at the missile with pride. Something in the back of Lucy’s mind was yelling at her, saying that the well-dressed Nazi beside Flynn was familiar. She ran through the list of Nazi high command, who it could possibly be, but his face didn’t match any of the names she knew. Her memory of him seemed out of place, almost out of time.

Everything seemed to come to a screeching halt when she recognized him. He seemed out of time because he was so young, almost every picture of him she had ever seen was from the 1960s among notable and celebrated Americans. She couldn’t recognize him at first because she associated him, primarily, with a different point of history, with Cold War history, not World War II. Wyatt’s finger was on the trigger when Lucy lunged forward, placing her hand on top of his and frantically pulling the gun down. “Stop, stop.” She whispered, trying to keep her voice down to avoid detection, “Don’t shoot.” Even as all three men with Lucy looked at her like she was insane, she insisted, “You can’t shoot.” Glancing between Wyatt and the open field, Lucy explained, “That’s Wernher Von Braun standing next to Flynn.”

“Who the hell is that?” Wyatt asked, his anger evident despite the quiet tone.

Clutching Wyatt’s upper arm, Lucy squeeze tightly, trying to emphasize how serious she was, “Someone we can’t risk getting caught in the crossfire.”

“Flynn is right there!” Wyatt hissed.

Tightening her grip on her husband’s arm, Lucy insisted, “Please, Wyatt. You can’t. You have to trust me. I _need_ you to trust me.” He glanced between her and the obstructed view of Flynn. Jaw clenched and brow furrowed, it was clear he was thinking hard on Lucy’s request. When their eyes met again, he must have seen something, because he let out a sigh and reluctantly tucked his gun away.

“You better have a hell of a good reason for me not taking this shot, Lucy,” Wyatt said. Lucy nodded and, with a small twitch at the corner of her lips, silently thanked him for listening to her. After the small exchanged, both returned their attention to the men surrounding the missiles. Crouching out of sight, the three time travelers and future novelist remained where they were for another fifteen minutes as they silently waited for the Nazis to leave. They seemed to all let out a collective sigh when the cars finally drove away, leaving them alone at the launch pad.

“Why did you stop his shot?” Fleming asked, once it was safe for them to speak again, “He had your man right there!”

“Because of who he was with!” Lucy replied, “That was Wernher Von Braun!”

Simultaneously, Fleming asked who and Rufus gasped, “That’s Von Braun? Him?” When Lucy nodded, Rufus immediately agreed with her, “We cannot let him die, guys.” Their conversation stopped there when, in the distance, they heard the chatter of German soldiers.

“We need to go,” Fleming said, “We’ll continue this at the safe house.”

* * *

There was nothing about the plan that Wyatt liked. He didn’t like his wife infiltrating a Nazi party without his protection. He didn’t like his wife having the overly flirty and possibly unreliable Ian Fleming as her only backup. He didn’t like her insistence on protecting a Nazi. He didn’t like the fact that none of them could figure out what exactly Flynn’s plan was and that it might pertain to the very Nazi that Lucy wanted to keep safe. And, more than anything, Wyatt did not like the look in Lucy’s eye. It was the same unfocused, slightly dazed, stare he had noticed when they were at Mason Industries that morning. He was worried about her, really worried. Not just about her safety in the Nazi run castle, but about her mental health. They had been through the wringer since they were introduced to time travel, things neither of them could have possibly prepared for, but at least he had the benefit of his Delta Force training. He had been in battles before, he had been shot at, and he had done the shooting. Even after his discharge from the army and his decision not to reenlist, he still faced similar danger through his work with SWAT. Nothing had prepared him for time travel, but he was prepared for and familiar with violence, risk, and uncertainty. Lucy had never dealt with anything like this before. The reason he was worried about her was because the look in her eyes was something he recognized, something he had seen in every new soldier out in the field for the first time. She was on the edge and close to breaking. He had to do something.

Outside the door to Lucy’s borrowed room, Wyatt was a little nervous. When she had gone upstairs to put on the uniform Fleming got for her, things were still tense between the two of them. Neither had swayed the other to their side of the argument on what to do with Von Braun. He was still against protecting a Nazi and she was still arguing that his survival and safe arrival to America was vital for the future. He didn’t want to continue fighting. He wanted to talk to her, to be there for her, and to catch her before she could fall too far. Yes, he was being paid to eliminate Flynn, but at the end of the day, regardless of what year they were in, being there for Lucy was his job and it was a job he loved. Being Lucy Preston’s husband was the most important thing to Wyatt and he was not going to let fights over time travel or Nazis stop him from being there to help her.

Taking a deep breath, Wyatt knocked on the door. There was no response, but he knew she was in there. While he was waiting outside the door her heard a small clatter, like she had dropped something. He paused, waiting for her to open the door, but it didn’t happen. Assuming she didn’t hear, he knocked again. Once more, there was no response. More worried about Lucy than he was about continuing a fight, he opened the door. The sight that greeted him broke his heart. She was leaning over the dresser, her head down and her back hunched. Her face was contorted, scrunched up like she was holding in either a scream or a sob, most likely both. From across the room, he could hear how heavily she was breathing. His stomach churned a little, he had failed her by letting her panic get so bad. He should have realized sooner and come talk to her earlier. She needed him and he was so focused on the job that he had forgotten to support his wife. Ever since meeting Lucy he had promised himself that he would be good for her, that he would avoid the mistakes he had before, and seeing her shake with fear, alone in a foreign room, Wyatt knew he had fallen short of that goal.

“Luce.” He said, to get her attention. Her name almost came out as a question because of his concern for her, but he made sure not to let that happen. He felt like he had to be steady for her.

Her head shot up, her mouth opened, and it was clear she hadn’t heard him come in. As soon as she saw him, she straightened up, trying to hide the moment she had been having alone. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

Walking across the room to her, he replied, “I did, twice.”

She turned away from the mirror she had been only half staring in and tried to come up with a response to him. It lacked her usual sharp wit and she let out a sigh afterwards, saying “Look, I don’t want to fight about Von Braun.”

“Good,” Wyatt said, coming close to her. He placed his hands on her upper arms, making sure she was looking at him. She jolted a little at the contact. “Me neither. I think we should talk about something else.”

Lucy shrugged, “Okay, like what?”

"Come sit,” Wyatt said, instead of responding. Dropping his hands from his arms, Wyatt reached down with his right hand to link their fingers. Taking her hand in his, Wyatt led her to the edge of the bed, sitting down. Hesitantly, Lucy followed him and sat beside him, keeping their hands together.

“Like what, Wyatt?” Lucy asked. He could tell she knew what sort of conversation was coming. She seemed to show a sudden interest in their linked hands, staring down at them and fiddling with her own fingers.

“Like you putting on a good front,” He said, softly, “Pretending you aren’t going through what you’re going through. But I’ve seen this a thousand times in a thousand guys, and I’d be a pretty shit husband, let alone friend, if I didn’t see it in you now.”

“Seen what?” She asked, changing a quick glance up toward him before looking back down where their hands lay in her lap.

Rubbing his thumb soothingly over the back of her hand, Wyatt continued, “New soldier in the field. Freaking out.” Scoffing, Lucy tried to insist she wasn’t freaking out, but Wyatt called her bluff. “Lucy, I’ve seen you have panic attacks before. You don’t need to hide it from me, I’m here for you. I’m here with you. I was you once, the new guy in battle. And guys like you, guys like me, have two options. Get over the hump or crack up.”

“You never talk about your first deployment, much. How did you… how do I, get over the hump?”

Giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, Wyatt told her, “You talk about what’s bothering you.”

“You don’t like talking about your deployments,” Lucy argued. She was right,

Wyatt didn’t talk about his deployments. He shared with Lucy what he could, especially at night when she would wake him from a nightmare with her soft hands and calming words. He would tell her then, in the safety of the dark, about the horrors he had seen, the friends he had lost, the regrets that haunted him. But rarely, if ever, did Wyatt talk about his time at war. He didn’t like reliving the memories, not when there were much better things in his life. After a pause, he said, “I’m over the hump.”

Lucy shook her head but kept her gaze low, “You make it sound easy.”

"It isn’t,” Wyatt replied, “It wasn’t for me. But you have something I didn’t.”

“And what’s that?” Lucy asked, finally looking up at him and meeting his gaze.

With another squeeze to her hand, Wyatt said, “Someone who loves you.”

For a moment, neither said anything. They kept their eye contact and their hands together but were quiet. Then, Lucy sighed and lowered her head to rest against Wyatt’s shoulder. “Every time we get in that fucking time machine, I feel like I’m back in that car. I feel like I’m crashing again, drowning again, like everything is closing in.” Wyatt knew exactly what Lucy was talking about. He remembered the first time she told him about her car accident when she was in college, the panic she had felt, the feeling of the cold water rushing around her. He had even held her at night when she woke up from a nightmare reliving that moment. He listened as she continued, “I don’t put myself in situations I can’t control, Wyatt, you know that. And every moment since Kondo showed up at our door was a moment I can’t control. It just gets worse when we get in that time machine. Where we’re somewhere we shouldn’t be, when we’re doing things we shouldn’t do. I feel like I’m back in that car and everything is out of control and I cannot breathe. I can’t. I don’t think I can keep doing this, Wyatt.” As she finished speaking, she let out a half sob. In response, Wyatt dropped her hand so he could wrap his arm around her shoulders. He pulled her close, letting her sag against him with the relief that came with pouring out deep emotions. He reached across them with his other hand, taking her far hand in his so their hands were once more linked. After a moment she looked up at him and asked, “How do you keep doing it?”

“You, for one,” Wyatt answered, “You and Grandpa Sherwin. He was the reason I got over the hump on my first deployment. I thought about him, what he’d done,” Wyatt paused for a second, before sharing a realization he had in that moment, “And you know he’s probably less than 200 miles from here right now. Younger than me, killing Nazis with the 101st. It was the thought of him, of young him, risking his life to stop others from dying, to make the world a better place, that got me through. I had to make him proud. I wanted to be the man he thought I could be, I still do.” Pressing a kiss to the top of Lucy’s head, Wyatt continued, “And ever since I met you everything I’ve done, from deployment to SWAT to hurtling through time has been to make you proud. To be the man that you deserve because I’m the luckiest man on the planet to be married to you. Both of you, Grandpa, you, Luce, are the reason I fight. You wanna know how to keep doing this?” With another kiss to the top of her head, he explained, “You figure out what you’re fighting for.”

"Thank you,” Lucy said, sitting up and slowly extracting herself from her husband’s embrace, “For everything, Wyatt.”

“Just doing my job, ma’am,” He replied. Facing her for nearly the first time through the course of their conversation, Wyatt noticed that her tie was loose. He leaned over and with a tug, tightened it up.

With a small smile, Lucy joked, “Don’t call me ma’am.”

Her reply told Wyatt that she was feeling better and he rose from the bed, giving Lucy’s shoulder one last reassuring squeeze. She told him she’d be down in a minute, just needed to finish getting ready. He nodded and headed out of the room. In the doorway, Wyatt paused for a second. “Lucy?” He said, when she looked up at him, he added, “You’ll be okay. You’re the strongest person I know.”

She gave him another small smile and nodded, “And you’re the strongest person I know.”

“Good thing we’re married then,” He replied. She let out a soft laugh as Wyatt left the room. From the sound, Wyatt could tell she was already feeling better. She would get over the hump, he knew it. If he could do it back when he was eighteen, there was no doubt in his mind that Lucy could do the same. She could accomplish anything.

* * *

Lucy closed her eyes, scrunching them up as she prepared to be shot. Fleming was able to kill the first two Nazis who had them at gunpoint, but with no bullets left in his gun and two semi-automatics aimed at them, it appeared like they were out of chances. She held her breath, silently telling herself that death would be painless, that it would be quick. It wouldn’t matter that she died before she was born, since she would be gone. When two gunshots echoed around the room, Lucy froze. Still holding her breath, it took her a heartbeat to realize that she hadn’t been shot. She wasn’t hurt. Opening her eyes, she saw the two Nazi officers collapse to the ground, dead. Then she looked up. Standing on the other side of a now shattered window was Wyatt and Rufus. Her husband had his gun raised and it was clear he had fired the shots that just saved her life.

“Time to go,” He said, tucking his weapon away. Lucy and Fleming scrambled up to stand.

Shaking her head, Lucy insisted, “We still have to get Von Braun.” Returning to the gala unnoticed was easy due to the chaos. As they hurried through the halls, Rufus proudly told Lucy about the distraction they caused by blowing the rocket early. Once they reached the main foyer of the castle, all eyes were scanning for Von Braun. From where they stood on one of the balconies overlooking the open space of the large room below, he was easy to spot hurrying among the panicked crowds.

“There!” Lucy exclaimed, pointing him out. Flanked by Wyatt and Fleming, the historian chased down Von Braun. They met him on one of the numerous flights of stairs, the two soldiers grabbing him harshly. Fleming got a good grip of the engineer and held him in front of him, pushing him towards the escape route. Following closely was Lucy. Protectively, Wyatt kept a hand on her arm, leading her safely through the stream of people. They were almost out of the ballroom when, from across the balcony, they spotted Flynn and he spotted them. With his gun drawn and a group of Nazi soldiers behind him, Flynn was heading their way. With Von Braun in their custody, they ran, meeting up with Rufus along the way. Unfamiliar with the castle, they charged down a random hallway into the very last room. As soon as the door was closed, Wyatt and Fleming shoved a desk to block the entrance. Lucy had to dive out of the way, ending up on the ground, crouched against one of the couches in the room.

It didn’t matter though, because they were trapped. “No windows, no other doors,” Rufus pointed out, “Great.”

"We post up here,” Wyatt ordered, placing himself beside the door. He drew the rifle that he had procured earlier that night, “Soon as they come through the door, we shoot.”

"Wyatt, that’s suicide.” Lucy snapped. He looked at her, eyes wide, silently asking if there was a better option. She couldn’t think of one.

Fleming agreed with Wyatt’s insane plan. “Alright, but first,” Then, without warning, he drew his gun, aiming point blank at Von Braun.

Von Braun yelled in fright, begging for his life. Due to quick reflexes and training, Wyatt moved faster than Fleming, He flung his arm a top Fleming’s pulling the gun down and stopping him from shooting. Wyatt yelled, “What the hell are you doing?”

Pointing an accusatory finger at Von Braun, Fleming argued, “That bastard’s rockets destroyed London.”

“I was just following orders,” Von Braun said, defending himself.

“He has to pay for what he did. You give him to the Allies, that’s never gonna happen! There is right and there is wrong.” While yelling, Fleming focused his attention on Wyatt, imploring the other soldier to support his desire.

“Wy,” Lucy said, begging him with just his name. He knew the importance of Von Braun; he knew that the engineer needed to make it to America. Without him, there would be no NASA, no moon landing, the 2016 that they would return to would be unrecognizable. Sharp blue eyes roved over the faces of the three people arguing. Wyatt glanced between Fleming’s frantic anger, Von Braun’s pleading for his life, and Lucy’s request. “Wyatt!” She snapped; he was taking too long to decide what to do. They were running out of time.

Her voice jolted him out of his thoughts. “I agree with him,” Wyatt said, taking a step toward Lucy, “But I trust you.” Turning to the displeased Fleming, he ordered, “We listen to her, end of story.” The trust Wyatt had in her was mutual. She had known he would make the right choice, no matter how conflicted he felt about the situation. Relief flooded through Lucy at his words, but it was short lived. Not even a second later there was a loud pound on the door, then a second one. Flynn and the Nazis had reached the room where they were hiding.

“Give me the gun,” Fleming said to Wyatt. As he spoke, the door jerked forward a little. The desk blocked it, but it was clear that a few more slams on the other side and it would be swinging open.

“We really don’t have time for this!” Rufus yelled, clearly as terrified as Lucy felt.

With her heart beating rapidly in her chest, Fleming’s demands for the gun were nearly drowned out. Her head was pounding and, for a moment, all the noise in the room faded. Her gaze fell on the fireplace. On the mantle there was a symbol, a fish pointing up in the center of a shield. She had noticed it earlier in other details around the castle, when she had been alone with Fleming. There was a tingling in the back of her head, a memory pushing forward. It was the same feeling she had when she was trying to recognize Von Braun. She knew what she was looking at, she just didn’t associate it with the era they were in. The symbol was from a different time, from when the castle was built.

She nearly jumped when she realized why she recognized the symbol. Instinctively, her arm shot out, grabbing Wyatt, “Hold on,” She said with a smile, “I remember why this castle is so special.” Stepping forward, Lucy went toward the fireplace. She started feeling around the edges frantically. When she touched the crest with the fish, she found what she was looking for, the trigger mechanism. Pushing on the crest lightly, she turned it to the side at about a forty-five-degree angle. As she did, the back of the mantle place popped open, sliding to the side to reveal a crawl space, just big enough for a large man to crawl through. “Go!” She ordered as she dropped down to her knees, crawling into the secret passage. Wyatt grabbed Von Braun, pushing him through behind Lucy before following himself. Fleming was next and Rufus followed at the rear. As soon as he was through, he pushed the back of the mantle place back into its proper position, sealing off their escape route from their pursuants. It was dark in the tunnel, crawling forward, Lucy was leading them blindly. After about ten feet of crawling, the passageway opened up, widening a little and becoming tall enough to let people walk normally. Reaching along the wall as she stood, Lucy found a lantern hidden there. She asked Wyatt for his lighter, which he handed her. With a few flicks, the lantern was lit, and the dark passageway was illuminated. Everyone but Von Braun seemed to release a breath they had been holding. Able to see where they were going and away from the Nazis, it was clear that they had successfully evaded capture or death. Nobody spoke as they walked, still nervous about being found while in the castle walls and passage, but the relief was nearly palpable.

There was no door or gate at the exit, simply steps up and an exit through an archway. Stepping out and into the fresh air, Lucy smiled. They had escaped. Once outside, Lucy saw for the first time the damage Rufus and Wyatt had caused with the rocket. The entire launchpad was aflame, remnants of the broken missile scattered, and, despite their distance, where they stood was lit by the bright burning of the site.

Feeling more confident having gotten away, Rufus was the first to speak, “So you just knew there was a secret passage there?”

Shrugging, Lucy explained, “In the 1500s, Catholicism was outlawed here. So, Catholics in that castle built a network of secret tunnels to get priests in and out, through the fireplaces.”

“They called them priest holes,” Wyatt added.

Turning toward Wyatt, Rufus asked, “How did you know that.”

Rolling her eyes, before replying, Lucy and Wyatt ended up answering in unison, “It was in Skyfall.” Then, the hilarity of the moment hit. They were standing near a destroyed rocket, with the man who created America’s space program, and James Bond himself, talking about Skyfall. All three time travelers started laughing, leaving Fleming and Von Braun confused.

* * *

For the first time since starting the missions, the atmosphere inside the Lifeboat was positive. Levity was a nice change, even though Flynn still had the nuclear core, the mission felt like a victory. The walk to the time machine was filled with happy chatter. Praises were passed between the three, congratulating their fellow teammates for the accomplishments they had over the past two days. The couple were raving about Rufus’ idea to blow the rocket on the launchpad. He in turn, could not stop talking about how incredible Lucy was to figure out an escape route. Wyatt, for his part, was still marveling at the fact that they met Ian Fleming, his favorite author and the real life James Bond. It was then that Rufus reminded him that Fleming had flirted with Lucy the entire time they were together. Wyatt bristled a little at the pilot’s joke. Laughing, Lucy draped her arm around her husband, asking if he was jealous of her rather than Fleming.

Reaching the Lifeboat, Lucy didn’t feel the usual surge of fear and trepidation that came from entering the machine. The success of the mission helped. More than anything, it was Wyatt’s talk with her at Fleming’s safe house that helped. He was right, she needed to find something worth fighting for. She had found it that evening, while walking towards Von Braun, prepared to trick him, her pounding heart slowed for a moment and her mind cleared. Just like Wyatt, part of her would be fighting for him. He had so much faith in her, she couldn’t let him down by giving up the fight. But she had more to fight for. As she was approaching Von Braun, Lucy thought about Amy. She would do anything, hurtling through time included, to bring her sister back. That was the fight she needed to get over the hump. So lost in her thoughts, the harsh shaking of the time machine seemed to past in an instant.

The debrief started as soon as they climbed out of the Lifeboat. All three time travelers trying to talk over the other, to share what they thought was the most important part of the mission. It took sharp words and a stern tone from Agent Christopher for them to slow down and talk about the mission in an understandable way.

Halfway through the hangar, they all stopped walking when Mason started chuckling, “That’s, well, you’ve just described beat by beat, the plot of _Weapon of Choice_.”

“What’s _Weapon of Choice_?” Rufus asked, voicing the confusion all three of them felt.

Mason looked at them like they were idiots, “The Bond movie,” He said, as if it were obvious.

Having read every Bond book and seen all the movies multiple times, Wyatt shook his head. “There’s no such movie,” He argued.

“Yes, there is. It’s the one in the castle with the rockets. Connery’s finest, as far as I’m concerned.” As Mason spoke, one of the techs approached, a tablet in hand. He handed it over to Rufus before walking away. Looking down at the tablet, Rufus read aloud the description of the movie. It included castle infiltration, saving an evil scientist, and three CIA agents named Wyatt, Lucy, and Rufus.

The more Rufus read, the more excited Wyatt seemed to get. There was a mix of disbelief and elation on his face when he turned to Mason and asked, “Okay, so you’re telling me there’s a new Bond movie with Sean Connery and we’re in it?” Mason insisted the movie wasn’t new, having come out in the 60s but again, Wyatt shook his head. Looking as excited as he had been at meeting Fleming, grinning brightly he replied, “Well, it’s new to me.” He looked down at Lucy, smile still wide, and she knew without asking that they would be watching the new Bond movie that night.

Agent Christopher, always serious, interrupted the Bond talk, bringing up the nuke. Instantly, the mood shifted. They hadn’t found the nuke and Flynn had gotten away, again. No matter how successful Lucy thought the mission was historically, the Homeland agent certainly would disagree. Any trace of the lightheartedness vanished when Mason and Rufus brought up the potential use of the nuclear core, an unlimited power supply for the Mothership. History could be utterly destroyed because of that, as the Lifeboat would never be able to keep up.

After the debrief ended, Lucy asked Agent Christopher if they could speak alone. She asked Wyatt to wait for her before following the Homeland agent up to the conference room. The historian had demands she needed to make and they needed to happen then. Despite Agent Christopher’s impatience, Lucy started talking. It took her a lot for her to work up the nerve needed for the conversation and she wasn’t going to let the Pentagon stop it from happening. “I have to take a leave of absence from my job,” She said, starting with the easiest topic, “I need you to provide a cover story that explains why I get called away on short notice at 3am. I’m thinking historical consultant for Mason Industries’ confidential project. You guys come up with the paperwork.”

“Anything else?” Agent Christopher asked facetiously, clearly not wanting Lucy to continue.

“Yes,” Lucy said. She had to summon all her inner strength, all the power that Wyatt saw within her that she often doubted was there. This demand was the important one, the vital one, the reason she was going to get over the hump and keep fighting, “We need to fix history and get my sister back. I want Mason’s people working on it.”

Interrupting her, Agent Christopher challenged, “Or?”

“Or I walk. And so does Wyatt. And, no, this is not a bluff. I was given good advice recently, to figure out what I’m fighting for, well I’m fighting for my sister. That’s my price.” Turning, Lucy walked out of the room, not waiting for a reply. She knew her message was heard; she knew her threat would be taken seriously. If she was as world class as Agent Christopher said she was, they were going to follow through on her demands. Finished with Mason Industries for the night, Lucy was relieved to find Wyatt the first place she looked, the locker room. He looked up from his phone when he heard her walk in. Both were relieved that it was finally time to go home.

* * *

"Can’t believe I’m married to a Bond girl,” Wyatt joked as he climbed into bed beside Lucy. They had watched _Weapon of Choice_ as soon as they got home, a copy of the movie already there as it was now a part of Wyatt’s Bond box set. Just as Rufus had predicted, the fictional Lucy hooked up with the MI6 agent. At first, Wyatt seemed displeased about it, but when Lucy pointed out what it meant, his eyes went wide. “Pretty sure that was my fantasy when I was fifteen.”

Snuggling up against him, Lucy replied, “Pretty sure any girl was your fantasy when you were fifteen.”

Sighing, Wyatt replied, “Yeah, you’re probably right. But you know what?” Lucy looked up at him when he paused, waiting for her to acknowledge the question, “You’re better than any fantasy I could have ever had.”

A warm blush rushed to Lucy’s cheeks at his words. It didn’t matter that they had known each other for over three years and been married twice, he still had a way to charm her beyond belief. “Thank you,” She said, softly, her ear pressed against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, “And not just for the sweet compliments. Thank you for earlier, for talking to me. For helping me over the hump, even if you’re already past it.”

“I love you, Luce,” Wyatt replied, pulling her a little closer to him, “Helping you over the hump was nothing, maybe even a little selfish, because I’m pretty sure I need you with me on these to stay over the hump.”

"Just take the thank you,” Lucy sighed, closing her eyes as she started to drift off, “And I love you, too.” Leaning away from Lucy, Wyatt flicked off the bedside lamp. He then pulled her flush to him, holding her tight in his arms. Exhaustion had recently become their constant state and in minutes, husband and wife were deeply asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really had a blast writing this chapter, especially the over the hump exchange since I wrote that from Lucy's point of view in my first Timeless fic, I really loved coming at it from Wyatt's perspective. As always, reviews are appreciated! The next chapter will be up in about a week!


	6. Chapter 6

Dinner was in the oven, Wyatt was on the couch watching the Texans game, and Lucy was curled up beside him, reading a biography about Henry Clay. It was early evening and, after five days without a jump, the couple was feeling relaxed. Wyatt’s gunshot from 1865 was finally fully healed. Lucy was less anxious after their talk in 1944. Settling in for the night, they were feeling calmer than they had in nearly a month. It was insane Wyatt that they were approaching a month since learning about time travel, since losing Amy. Her absence left an ache in his chest, especially on a night at home, which Amy had the habit of crashing. Considering how much he missed his sister-in-law; he couldn’t imagine how Lucy was feeling. But the loss of her seemed less intense after the deal Lucy made, they were going to get her back, just as soon as the defeated Flynn. Almost as if summoned by his thoughts, Wyatt’s phone rang with a call from Mason Industries. Both of them groaned in annoyance as Wyatt pushed Lucy off of him to pull his phone from his pocket. Of course Flynn would jump in the middle of their first peaceful night in weeks. Instinctively, Lucy reached for her own phone at the sound of Wyatt’s, but only his was ringing.

“That’s weird,” Lucy said, glancing up at her husband.

Wyatt shrugged, “Maybe there’s another tactical mission they need me for.” He answered the call with a straightforward, “Master Sergeant Wyatt Logan.”

Agent Christopher responded without a greeting, “We need you to come into Mason Industries.”

“Has Flynn jumped?” Wyatt asked, “Do you need Lucy as well?”

“No jump, Master Sergeant. There’s a discussion we need to have with you.” She paused for a moment before adding, “Alone.”

“Of course, ma’am. I’m on my way.” Hanging up, Wyatt turned to Lucy, “They just want to talk to me apparently.”

Again, Lucy groaned, “But you can’t leave, I’ll burn dinner.”

Standing from the couch, Wyatt laughed at the small pout on his wife’s lips. Incredible, brilliant, beautiful, Lucy Preston was many things, but a cook was not one of them. She had once tried to make hard boiled eggs but left them in for too long, causing all the water to evaporate and the eggs to be scorched. Early in their relationship, when he was still in Delta Force, he frequently worried about her eating habits when he was deployed. Even once he was on SWAT and home most nights, he knew if he didn’t leave microwavable leftovers, she would eat either takeout or cereal. The one time she had tried to cook dinner to impress him they ended up eating at the closest 24-hour diner due to having to flee from their smoke-filled apartment as it aired out. Wyatt got up and headed down the hallway, putting on his shoes and collecting his wallet. Lucy followed him down the hallway. As Wyatt got ready to leave, he gave Lucy instructions for dinner, “The chicken will be ready in a couple of minutes. There’s a timer set. When you hear it all you have to do is take it out of the oven. That’s all.”

“I’m probably still going to ruin it,” She wearily replied.

Shrugging on his coat, Wyatt shook his head, smiling at her, “As long as you remember to turn off the oven, dinner will be fine, and the apartment will still be standing when I get back.” He leant down, pressing a quick kiss to Lucy’s cheek, “You’ll be fine, I have complete faith in you.”

“I don’t!” Lucy shouted after him as he stepped through the door.

Without Lucy in the car with him, the drive to Mason seemed longer than usual. The country music Wyatt had playing on the radio did little to fill the silence in the car the way a conversation with Lucy could. He was annoyed to be called away from their evening at home. Part of him was also worried. When he had been called in for the raid on Flynn’s warehouse, Agent Christopher had let him know why they needed him. The lack of explanation for why they wanted him at Mason Industries and the fact that they didn’t want Lucy, had Wyatt concerned. Pulling into the parking lot, Wyatt was surprised by how few cars there were. Apparently, with a few days without a time jump, the employees at Mason Industries were able to have regular work hours. When climbing out of his truck, Wyatt noticed that Rufus’ car in the lot. Maybe the pilot was being called in for the same reason, Wyatt hoped. Either way, Wyatt was about to find out. The security guard at the front entrance, a Homeland Security agent, checked Wyatt’s ID before sending him to the conference room where Agent Christopher was waiting for him.

The path to the conference room was, unfortunately, a familiar path. Wyatt took the stairs two at a time, hoping to get through the meeting with Agent Christopher quickly. Turning the corner to the conference room, Wyatt was concerned to see a man he didn’t recognize with the Homeland agent. He slowed for a second at the doors but, because the room was glass on all sides, could not wait long to enter, as he had already been spotted. Considering it was only Agent Christopher and the unknown man in the conference room, it was obvious that whatever he had been called in for had nothing to do with Rufus, which meant it was almost guaranteed to be military related. Walking into the room, Wyatt swung his arms behind his back and stood tall. Attention was a stance he was comfortable with, at times it felt like the neutral position for his body, and it was the appropriate way to stand considering where he was. He remained on the side of the table closest to the door, the other two occupants of the room stood opposite him.

“You wanted to see me, ma’am?” Wyatt asked.

“Thank you for coming in, I know it’s late,” Agent Christopher said. She then turned her attention to the man beside her, introducing him to Wyatt, “This is Deputy Director Patrick Ramsey, my boss at the NCTC.”

Wyatt took a deep breath and straightened his back. He understood immediately what was happening there was only one reason Agent Christopher’s boss would be there to talk to him. The compliment that Ramsey gave him about Syria did not matter, it was just a formality. “You’re replacing me,” Wyatt said, not willing to put up a charade of small talk before they dropped the news.

“How’d you know?” Ramsey asked.

Wyatt was relieved that they were keeping the conversation short. He didn’t want to drag out being fired. Explaining how he reached the conclusion, Wyatt said, “A guy like you doesn’t show up unless it’s to get rid of a guy like me, sir.”

“The job’s to kill Garcia Flynn. You just haven’t gotten it done. Maybe the next guy will,” Ramsey replied.

Wyatt wanted to argue with the federal agents. There was more to the job than eliminating Flynn. There was protecting history and there was, more importantly, protecting Lucy and Rufus. But Wyatt was trained not to question authority, no matter how much he wanted. He was just the muscle on the missions. Swallowing down his fight, Wyatt instead asked, “Who’re you bringing in?”

Agent Christopher replied, “Dave Baumgardner.”

“Bam-Bam,” Wyatt said with a small smile. Lucy liked Bam-Bam, they had met many times and gotten along well. If anybody had to take over for him, Wyatt wouldn’t complain about it being him. “I served with him in Kandahar. He was even-” Wyatt paused for a moment. He was about to say that Bam-Bam had been at their wedding, but in their current timeline he hadn’t been. The Bam-Bam who would be taking over, who would be responsible for keeping Lucy safe, has never met her. With less confidence, Wyatt said, “He’ll do a good job. I’m happy to brief him, if you’d like.” He said it as an offer, but Wyatt would insist if he had to. Bam-Bam needed to know how important it was to protect Lucy.

Stepping forward, Ramsey sighed, “For what it’s worth, Agent Christopher fought like hell to keep you here.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Wyatt said, “But I get it. It’s a result-oriented business, and I haven’t delivered results. I have one request, I need to be the one who tells Lucy. And, just… make sure Lucy is kept safe on the missions without me.” Agent Christopher’s response was a sad smile and a half nod. If she was going to say something, Wyatt would never know. Motion and chatter erupted in the Lifeboat hangar that the conference overlooked. All three of the room’s occupants turned to the window before quickly going to the catwalk to figure out what was happening. Considering how few cars there seemed to be in the parking lot, Wyatt was surprised by how many techs were swarming the computer consoles. When Agent Christopher called down asking what was going on the tech that Lucy said she liked, Jiya if Wyatt remembered correctly, told them that Flynn had jumped. For once, Wyatt knew what historical event Flynn was trying to change without any explanation from Lucy. As soon as Jiya said the date, he knew where they were going. “That’s days before the Alamo,” He warned, turning to Agent Christopher. When she looked at him, clearly wondering how he knew, Wyatt added, “I’m from Texas, we all know that one.”

Nodding, Agent Christopher said, “I’ll call Lucy.

Wyatt’s heart dropped at that. Being removed from the time travel assignment was not good, Wyatt thought. He didn’t like the idea of Lucy going on missions without him. Not only were they dangerous for her, there was the chance that she could come home to a different timeline without him, or to a different him. After Amy, he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let Lucy lose him, too. But her going to the Alamo without him? That was the worst thing imaginable for Wyatt. Their previous missions had been dangerous, but they were nothing compared to the Alamo. He couldn’t let her go without him. “When’s Baumgardner getting here?” He asked, his stomach churning.

Already walking away to get to work, Agent Christopher replied, “Not soon enough. Looks like you’re taking one more trip.”

“I’ll make the best of it, ma’am,” Wyatt promised. He didn’t only mean taking his last change to eliminate Flynn. He also meant proving himself to Agent Christopher and Deputy Director Ramsey. He was going to prove that they couldn’t replace him, despite failing to provide the necessary results. It was what he had to do in order to ensure he stayed on the team. It was what he needed to do to make sure Lucy didn’t time travel without him.

* * *

Barely half an hour after Wyatt had left, Lucy got a call from Agent Christopher that Flynn had jumped. Lucy was almost relieved to be called in. She wouldn’t have to keep wondering about why Wyatt had to leave earlier, she would be able to ask Agent Christopher and Wyatt herself. She was also thankful to be leaving her half-eaten plate of dinner behind. When the timer sounded to take the food out of the oven she had been in the bathroom, which led to the chicken being on the dryer side and slightly charred. After trying to get through the hard to stomach dinner, she had pushed it to the side and poured a bowl of cereal. She had just finished her bowl of cereal and had been eyeing the remaining chicken, trying to figure out if it was worth saving, when her phone rang. Deciding the chicken should be thrown out, especially since she didn’t know when either of them would be back in the apartment, Lucy dumped it into the trash. On her way out, her purse slung over her shoulder and keys in hand, Lucy tossed the garbage back down the trash chute. Hopefully, by the time they got back the slightly smoky smell will have faded, and Wyatt would never need to know that his faith in her cooking was, predictably, misplaced.

Arriving at Mason Industries, Lucy was rushed by Homeland agents to the locker room. When she asked about Wyatt, they said he was waiting for her at the Lifeboat and that she needed to get ready. Unhappy with the fact that she needed to wait to talk to her husband, Lucy complied. Jiya was with her, helping her get into the period costume, and prepping her on the jump location.

“The Alamo?” Lucy asked as the tech helped her into the heavy skirt.

“Looks like it,” Jiya said apologetically. She paused for a moment after Lucy was dressed, holding the last piece of clothing, a jacket, in her hand, “Do me a favor and keep Rufus safe?”

Lucy wanted to ask more about that request, but she didn’t have time. Already she was being rushed towards the Lifeboat. She gave Jiya a short nod before she lost sight of the tech, climbing the movable stairs into the time machine. Rufus and Wyatt were already sitting down by the time Lucy climbed into the ship. Immediately after she entered, Rufus flicked the switch to shut the door. It rolled shut as Lucy plopped down into her seat. As always, Wyatt leaned forward to help Lucy with her straps. She opened her mouth to ask him why he had been brought into Mason Industries earlier in the night, but before she could speak, Rufus said, “So, the Alamo, huh? A word synonymous for gory and inescapable death,” He glanced back at the other two teammates and added, “Wyatt, you wanna say something strong and reassuring?”

Giving Lucy’s strap one last tug to make sure she was secure, Wyatt said softly, “Don’t think I have anything much to say, since I just got fired.”

“What?” Lucy exclaimed, reaching out to grab Wyatt’s hand as he let go of her harness, “You got fired?”

Her husband shrugged sadly, “That’s why I was called in. This is gonna be my last mission.”

"How’d you get fired,” Rufus asked, “How do I get fired?”

Lucy shook her head and started struggling with her buckles to try to get out of her seat, “The hell it is, I am not doing this without you. They can’t just _fire_ you, can they? Don’t answer that.”

Reaching out, Wyatt stopped her, “Lucy, now’s not the time,” Once she settled back in her seat he put his hand in his pockets, pulling out grenades and placing them in his bag, “Besides, I’m going to eliminate Flynn this jump and it won’t be a problem.”

“Wyatt, what if those go off in here,” Lucy asked, distracted for a moment by the grenades.

“They won’t,” He replied, “I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re bringing grenades, to the Alamo,” Lucy said, struggling to understand how casual he was being about it.

Finally strapping himself in, Wyatt explained, “Like I said, I’ve got one last shot at Flynn and I’m gonna take it. I’m not letting Baumgardner do this instead of me, not when it’s you that needs protecting.” Glancing up at Lucy he added, “And what are they gonna do? Fire me?”

“I don’t like this, Wy,” Lucy warned. As she voiced her concern, Rufus flipped a red switch on the control panel and the Lifeboat started whirring. Outside, Lucy knew the rings were spinning progressively faster. Inside, the cabin space started it’s nauseating shaking. Like every jump, Lucy’s hands clutched her harness straps, trying to ground herself against the rapid movement. It might have just been in her head because she was worried about when they were going and Wyatt being fired, but the time jump felt worse than usual. When the time machine came to an abrupt stop, all three occupants groaned. Rufus, who usually rushed to open the hatch so they could get fresh air and settle their stomachs, seemed reluctant to flip the switch to do so. The dread of stepping out into the Texas heat and acknowledge the fact that they were going to the Alamo seemed to be slowing him down as well.

* * *

It was almost unnerving how easy it was for them to enter the Alamo. Despite knowing the history, knowing how desperate for manpower the people holed up in the Alamo were, nothing could have prepared Lucy to experience walking up to the fortified gates and be let in. The walk from the Lifeboat was shorter than Lucy had expected, and they had reached the mission sooner than she would have wanted. Entering the mission turned military base, Lucy’s heart sank. Again, no amount of reading could have prepared her to see the faces of people who she knew were going to be killed in less than a week. Rufus’ words from their second mission, when he pushed her to think about saving Lincoln, resurfaced in her mind. She was going to have to step aside and let people die, again, in order to preserve history.

Voicing the same things Lucy had been thinking, Wyatt said, “I expected soldiers.”

Looking around, Lucy pushed back the guilt she felt and focused on facts. She had always found facts to be a comfort. “It’s mostly local ranchers, farmers, families too,” She explained.

"Part of me just wants to shout out “run for your lives,” y’know?” Rufus asked.

“I know,” Lucy said, softly. She wanted to do the same. 

Eyes roving the courtyard, Rufus spotted a group of black men standing together. He pointed them out and Lucy explained the in Mexico, where they technically still were, slavery was outlawed. They were free men. As they were talking, Wyatt was scanning the mission from where they stood, almost certainly looking for Flynn. The terrorist was missing, but Wyatt found one of the historical figures they needed to talk to.

Pointing across the courtyard, he said, “That’s gotta be him.”

“That’s Bowie,” Lucy confirmed. Wyatt had started walking toward the commander before Lucy had spoken. She took a few quick steps to keep up with him and added, “Let me take the lead on this, okay?” She was worried about Wyatt, the nonchalance he had about bringing grenades with him, the way he told her about being fired, it wasn’t like him. Something was wrong, but there was no time to talk to him about it. Instead, she approached a man who she knew was going to die within the next few days, calling out, “Excuse me, Colonel Bowie, sir?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bowie greeted her.

Shaking his hand, Lucy introduced herself, “Hi, hello, I’m Lucy Logan. This is my husband, Wyatt.”

With a slightly stronger Texan accent than usual, Wyatt shook Bowie’s hand and said, “How do you do, sir?” When Bowie said his name, a small smile quirked on Wyatt’s lips. Lucy caught it and smiled herself. Growing up outside Houston, Wyatt idolized Bowie and the other fighters at the Alamo.

“We just arrived,” Lucy said to Bowie, “We’re here to volunteer.”

With a nod of his head, Bowie replied, “Well, I’m glad to have you,” Glancing between the two of them he asked, “So you’re just in from where?”

"The East,” Lucy replied, placing her hands on her hips and hoping the lie sounded confident enough, “San Felipe,” She added, knowing that Wyatt’s small hometown was already established.

Her heart stopped when Bowie said, “Ah, I’ve got family in San Felipe.”

Wyatt glanced to her, as she struggled to respond, “Oh, you do? It’s nice. It’s lovely there. Um, actually I was, we were passing through—”

Saving her from bumbling through another lie, Wyatt interrupted, “Look, we’re looking for a guy. Tall guy, dark hair, accent, name is Garcia Flynn.”

“What, I'm sorry—” Bowie said, shaking his head in confusion.

“He’s a Mexican sympathizer,” Lucy said.

Accent even heavier than before, Wyatt warned the colonel, “This guy may have already infiltrated the fort. He is very dangerous. Have you seen him?” As he spoke, Wyatt sounded tense and impatient. Concerned, Lucy glanced at him. The worry she felt before bubbled up, but it still wasn’t the right time to talk.

“I don’t know, but I will ask around,” Bowie promised. With a tilt of his hat, Bowie walked away, leaving husband and wife alone.

Turning to Wyatt, Lucy looked up at him and asked, “What’s going on, Wyatt? You came on strong with him, didn’t you? And the grenades? Something’s up.”

Shaking his head, Wyatt replied, “There isn’t time for this Lucy. We don’t have time to play cowboy and we don’t have time to have a heart to heart.” Before Lucy could reply, Wyatt stalked away from her. Jaw dropping in surprise and offense, Lucy did nothing more than watch him leave. He was angry, at who or what Lucy wasn’t entirely sure, but whatever was going on, it could put them all at risk. Safety aside, he was her husband and she wanted to be able to help him, to support him, and standing alone in the middle of the Alamo, Lucy wasn’t sure how.

* * *

This was his last chance to eliminate Flynn and Wyatt was not going to let slip through his fingers. He was going to stop the terrorist or die trying. Because if he didn’t, stop Flynn, Lucy was going to keep going on the missions without him. He couldn’t let that happen. They were too dangerous and no matter how good Bam-Bam is, he would never protect Lucy the way Wyatt did. The only way Lucy was traveling through time without him was over his dead body, Wyatt promised himself. Being in the middle of the Alamo made the mission all the more dire. If he didn’t stop Flynn in time, anything could happen. What, they had yet to determine, but Wyatt wasn’t willing to wait to find out. Lucy and Rufus, though, didn’t seem to grasp how serious their mission was. While he had started searching the compound for Flynn, his teammates were gawking at Davy Crocket like they were tourists and he was a passing celebrity. He snapped at them, telling them to scour the place. Lucy grabbed his arm as he walked past her, a concerned look in her eyes. She opened her mouth, to ask what was wrong, Wyatt assumed, but he shrugged off her hand. He had told her before, there was no time to talk.

Gun in his hand but kept low, Wyatt ducked into the first building he came across. The fact that the Alamo was originally built as for missionaries and not as a fortress was one Wyatt always knew but knowing that and going through a beaten-up chapel were two very different things. Broken pottery, crumbling, dusty walls, it all felt familiar. Lowering his gun, Wyatt walked into the room. It was empty, he already knew that just by a glance from the door, but for some reason he was drawn inside. Stepping further into the chapel, he took off his hat. Whether it was for comfort or out reverence, he wasn’t sure. The crosses on the wall were out of place but with the candles and the pale light filtering through the paneless window, he felt like he had been there before. Somethings were different but the dry heat, the sandy hues, the dread of approaching battle, were the same. Another step into the room and suddenly he was there. Or they were with him in the Alamo. He wasn’t sure. Whatever the case was, they were all there, he was seeing them. It was Syria all over again. He had to warn them, had to help them. Walking further into the room, Wyatt scanned their faces. Eric and Matthews, standing Wilson had his headset on, probably on the radio back to base. And there packing up the case, handing it back to him, a determined look in his kind eyes, was Zach. Slowly, he reached for the case, heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t do it again, could he? Take the intel and leave them all behind. Hand raised; Wyatt froze.

“Oh good, there you are,” Lucy’s voice broke his trance. His team was gone, or they were never there, or he was gone, he wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, the room was empty again except for him and his wife. Looking back behind him, Wyatt expected to see them all, but it was as if they had never been there. But Lucy was there, talking. He could barely hear her through the dull ringing he heard in his ears.

She asked him something and Wyatt responded with a shrug and a terse, “Keep looking.” Still searching the room for Zach, Eric, anyone, but the room continued to be empty.

"Are you okay?” Lucy asked him. He loved her. He loved her so much. She could see right through him, deep into his heart.

“Yeah,” Wyatt sighed.

Walking into the room, Lucy came up to him, “Are you sure?” She asked. Lifting a concerned hand, she cupped his cheek. “I’m worried about you.”

Shaking his head, Wyatt insisted he was fine. That they needed to find Flynn, he told her. Nodding, Lucy let him be. But, despite letting the topic rest, they both knew he was far from okay.

* * *

When the sound of a gunshot reverberated through the echo chamber that was the Alamo, Wyatt ran towards the source. It was too early for there to be fighting, nothing was supposed to happen for another four days. The gunshot alone told Wyatt someone from the future had pulled the gun. He knew the sound, it wasn’t a historically accurate gun, it was a semi-automatic. Flynn had already changed something. Listening to men screaming, Wyatt easily found the room where the gunshot originated. Bursting through the open door, he had his hand tucked in his jacket, prepared to pull out his gun. Expecting Flynn, Wyatt stopped when he saw Bowie and Davy Crockett. Upon Wyatt entering, they pulled their guns on him. Raising his hands, Wyatt signaled to them that he wasn’t an enemy. The two American icons were leaning over a dead man, clearly whoever had been shot.

Rising, Bowie asked, “This the man you warned about did this?”

"Yeah, I think so,” Wyatt replied. It had to be Flynn, or at least one of his goons. A moment later, Lucy reached the room, having heard the gunshot as well. Taking Lucy’s upper arm into his hand, Wyatt stopped her from coming further in. She didn’t need to see the dead man, especially considering her aversion to blood. Although, if Wyatt thought about it, with the amount of injuries they had all sustained or caused on missions, her stomach was much stronger than it had been before. Leaning close to her ear, Wyatt told her what he already knew, “That gunshot came from a semi-automatic. Flynn was right here.”

As they spoke, Bowie respectfully placed a blanket over the dead man. Leaving the room, Wyatt promised the colonel that he would find Flynn. He would not let Flynn get away with another untimely death. Stalking between buildings, Wyatt came out into the courtyard. His eyes roved the crowd. He saw no sign of Flynn. Knowing the terrorist couldn’t have gotten far, Wyatt climbed to the top of one of the Alamo walls, for a better vantage point. He had his gun drawn, but lowered his gun, again not seeing Flynn. But, when Wyatt turned on his heels so he could start climbing down from the ladder, he froze. Flynn had done more than kill a man four days early, he had brought the entire Mexican army to the gates of the Alamo early, too.

* * *

Flynn wasn’t trying to make the Alamo worse, Lucy realized as she looked out over the waiting army outside the mission. Although, the red flag ordering for no prisoners or survivors, not even the women or children, implied that. But no, with Colonel Travis dead and the army outside the gates three days early, Flynn was going for something much worse than more deaths at the Alamo. He was trying to stop the state of Texas from existing. No Texas could have indescribable consequences. How much further west would the United States spread without Texas? What would happen in the Civil War? Not to mention the two presidents that are Texas natives. American history, world history, would be unrecognizable without Texas. When she told Rufus her theory about what was going on, he was confused.

“What letter?” He asked.

“Travis’ famous “Victory or Death” letter,” Lucy explained. She pulled from her pocket the paper she had taken from Travis’ desk. There were only two sentences. “It’s the one that was reprinted in U.S. newspapers all over the country. It’s why we remember the Alamo. It’s why they were able to defeat Santa Anna in a few weeks.” Despite standing nearby, Wyatt didn’t participate in the conversation. He seemed off, like he had when she walked in on him earlier. As if he wasn’t fully there. Worry for him nudged at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t focus on him, she had to focus on the task at hand.

Taking the would-be letter from Lucy’s grasp, Rufus held it up and stated the obvious, “It’s only two sentences.”

“Exactly. Because Travis was killed before he was able to finish it.”

“So, no letter, no Texas,” Rufus said, reaching the same conclusion Lucy had minutes before.

Still, Wyatt did not react. Walking up to him, she placed a concerned hand on his upper arm and asked, “Wyatt, are you listening?”

His voice was flat when he spoke, lacking emotion, “All of this, and Flynn manages to trap us in the Alamo,” He let out a dry, sardonic chuckle, and added, “Gotta hand it to him,” His words, the tone, it all made Lucy’s heart leap into her throat. No matter what he had said earlier, Wyatt was not alright. She had been right in her concerns, but there was nothing she could do, not when there was so much else happening, not when they were running out of time.

“Wyatt, we need you right now,” She said softly, pleadingly, “Please.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Wyatt looked down at Lucy’s hand. It was as if he was just realizing that she was there, touching him. He looked up at her, meeting her gaze, and something changed in his eyes. Whatever was going on with him, wherever he had been in his mind a moment before, it had passed for the moment. He was back. Regrouping, Wyatt turned to their third teammate, “Rufus, you need to find a way out.”

“A way out?” Rufus replied, looking between Lucy and Wyatt, “There’s two things everybody knows about the Alamo. One, everybody dies. Two, they die because there’s no way out.”

Stepping forward, Wyatt urged, “The Alamo didn’t have anyone as smart as you. Figure it out. Make a way if you have to. We need to get the women and children out.” Tilting his head, it looked like Rufus was already thinking of options. Lucy sighed, she had faith in Rufus, he could save them. Directing his attention to Lucy, Wyatt added, “Same with the letter.”

“Like I said before, Travis didn’t finish it,” Lucy pointed out.

“Then finish it for him,” Wyatt replied, taking her hand in his, “You’re the smartest person I know, you can write one letter.” After a heartbeat, he dropped her hand and started walking away, “I’m going to buy us some time.”

Lucy watched him leave, her stomach churning. She was still worried about him. But, for the moment, he seemed to be himself. He seemed to be ready to do what was needed to get them home and that was what mattered. With Rufus by her side, Lucy watched her husband approach Colonel Bowie. He offered the colonel his help and pride swelled in Lucy’s chest. If anybody could slow the imminently approaching battle, it was Wyatt. Taking back Travis’ letter from Rufus, Lucy started towards the colonel’s office, ready to get to work. She stopped though, when she heard what Wyatt was saying. He was telling Bowie and his men the future, that they were all going to die, and he was doing it in a tactless way. He was angry and arguing with Bowie. When Bowie scolded Wyatt, he didn’t continue the conversation and instead stalked away. Again, Lucy was hit by the thought that her husband was struggling. Reluctantly, Lucy left Wyatt on his own, and continued to the office. She had work to do.

The work, however, did not come easily. She sat at Travis’ desk, trying to remember his remarkable words and came up short. As the night became dawn became day, Lucy remained sitting at the desk, unable to put together any semblance of Travis’ original letter. Ink pen in her hand, she rested it over pages. Repeatedly, she started the letter. She would write a sentence or two and reread it. The words were wrong. It wasn’t what Travis had written. It wasn’t powerful. It would do nothing to rally the people. Repeatedly, she took the letters she had started and crumpled the paper or ripped it. One letter was so awful that she burnt it rather than let the words continue existing.

She was on the cusp of crying, out of desperation or sorrow, she wasn’t sure, when Rufus and Wyatt came into the office. Rufus announced that he might have found a way out. Grabbing one of Lucy’s discarded scraps of papers, Rufus began drawing their potential escape route. Huddled together, Lucy watched Rufus rapid pen strokes as he drew out his map. Wyatt, however, was standing further away. His apparent disinterest in Rufus’ solution was concerning. He seemed absent, once more. “Great news,” Rufus said, “The aqueduct goes from the fort to the river here.”

“That’s right,” Lucy replied, his words sparking a memory, “There was an aqueduct system running all through this area built in the 1740s.”

Pointing at his hastily drawn map, Rufus explained his plan, “If we can get in, we can sneak the women and children out. Your letter, too.”

Leaning over the desk, Lucy shot Rufus a smile, “Okay.” He had figured it out, just like Wyatt said he would. Her smile faded, though, when Rufus added a caveat to his plan.

“The only problem is where it connects,” Rufus said, “Under the chapel, via a softball sized hole through three feet of stone.”

Wyatt sighed as Lucy asked, “So how the hell are we supposed to get through that? I’m sorry, where’s the great news here?” It seemed, to Lucy at least, like they still were short an exit.

Glancing at the papers scattered across the desk, Wyatt switched the topic and asked, “How’s the letter coming?”

“It’s not,” Lucy sighed, “I’m having the world’s worst case of writer’s block. I know that there’s something about “patriotism” and “liberty” and “American character,” I think.”

"You don’t know?” Rufus said, “You’re the historian.

She looked up at him, furrowing her brow. He was one to judge, considering he couldn’t find a plausible escape, “Yeah, believe it or not, I have not memorized every single letter ever written in the history of time, and this letter, if I don’t get every word exactly right—”

“It’s just a letter,” Wyatt interrupted.

How could he be so nonchalant about this, Lucy wondered. “It’s not just a letter,” She snapped, “It’s the letter that created Texas. No pressure or anything!”

“For god sakes,” Her husband said, turning to her, “You’re in your own head. Just write something. Anything. It doesn’t have to be exact.”

Under her breath, Lucy replied, “You’re one to talk about being in my head.” Poor Rufus, Lucy thought, knowing full well that the pilot was about to get stuck in the middle of their fight.

“What was that?” Wyatt asked, raising his tone.

Standing straighter, Lucy snapped again, “Oh, I can just say whatever I want like you did with Bowie?”

“Yes,” Wyatt hissed, “You say what’s in here,” He pointed at his chest, his heart, as he approached here, “Quit pretending, Lucy. All this dress-up and the grade school drama and the “we’re from San Felipe—”

It was Lucy’s turn to interrupt, “That’s the job, Wyatt! That’s _my _job.”

“No, the job is Flynn,” Wyatt yelled, “And I cannot do it with all of this crap!” Letting out a heavy breath, Wyatt continued, “How am I supposed to do my job with my hands tied behind my back?”

“If you think I’m tying your hands behind your back, then feel free to untie them,” Lucy replied, angry at him. “Unlike you, I know this job is more than just stopping the bad guy, Wyatt! But if you’d rather go guns blazing, no plan, and destroy history, then fine! See if I care!” He had barely been present the entire mission and Lucy was done. She was furious at Wyatt for not understanding the full scope of what they were doing. She had been spent the entire night _trying_ while he had antagonized the colonel whose help they needed. Whatever was going on in his head, he had no right to take it out on her.

In response, Wyatt marched out of the room. He paused for a moment at the door frame and looked back over his shoulder, “You know what, maybe Agent Christopher was right. I’m not the guy for the job.” There was a silent, unspoken, question as if he was thinking he wasn’t the guy for Lucy either. Sighing, Wyatt softly said, “I’m sorry.”

“Wyatt,” Lucy started after him, needing to talk. She didn’t get a chance to say anything as a loud explosion shook the entire building. Outside, screaming could be heard. Lucy and Rufus looked at each other, terrified. Hurrying out of the office, they found Wyatt waiting in the hall. He told them to follow him and the three left the relative safety of the structure out into the growing chaos of the Alamo. As Wyatt pushed open the door, a cannonball smashed into the ground mere feet away, spraying dirt and rocks around him. Another cannonball smashed into a wall near him, knocking rubble down atop a young boy. Without hesitation, Wyatt sprinted towards the injured boy. Lucy called after him and lunged to follow, but Rufus grabbed her, stopping her to keep her safe. Horrified, Lucy watched as he hefted the boy over his shoulders and, instead of seeking shelter, went further into the battle.

* * *

She couldn’t keep writing. It was going nowhere and, with Santa Anna’s reinforcements arriving and the battle rapidly approaching, there were better things she could do than sit at a desk, suffering from writer’s block. Instead, Lucy had joined some of the other women preparing bandages. Despite knowing that the battle would be so fast there would be no time to bandage wounds, Lucy reveled in being able to help. The people around her were so courageous, so dedicated, that she felt honored to be amongst them. The fresh air was a welcome gift, even if it was heavy with tension. Everyone in the compound was on edge after the bout of cannons. They had, thankfully, stopped, but everyone was on edge, waiting for them to resume. There was an added bonus, for Lucy, of where she sat. Wyatt, still apparently lost in his own thoughts, was only a few feet away from her. Every few minutes she would glance over at him, where he was kneeling, hunched over, and cutting away continuously to make more wooden stakes. She was in the middle of tearing at one of the bandages when she saw, from the corner of her eye, Bowie approach her husband. Lucy slowed her movements, instead, she focused on listening to their conversation.

After their argument and the following cannon fire, Lucy and Wyatt had not spoken. There was so much she wanted to say, but it felt wrong. What could she say, considering the situation? They were trapped in the Alamo, Wyatt had been fired, and he was struggling with something she did not understand, and he would not share. She wasn’t sure he even knew she was sitting near, he seemed so focused on his motions. He barely stilled, even with Bowie standing in front of him. A small smile quirked at the corner of her lips when Bowie thanked Wyatt for his actions. Of course Wyatt would shrug off saving the boy’s life. He was so noble, that was one of the many reasons she loved him. But as he spoke, her heart shattered. How had she not realized what was wrong? That he was remembering Syria? He spoke about that time, that deployment so rarely, that it was easy to forget, sometimes, all that Wyatt had been through. She hadn’t known him, then. Syria had been his last deployment before Jessica was killed. Once, Wyatt told her he thought that mission was one of the reasons Jess had died. He had been so torn up, so broken, after Syria, that he picked fights. He wouldn’t open up to Jess, after the deployment either, and so she picked fights. Lucy was lucky that she never had to fight with Wyatt, like that. She was lucky that he was honest with her, that, for the most part, he shared his burden. It struck her, that despite how open Wyatt often was, Syria was never discussed. And listening to him speak to Bowie, it struck Lucy how similar the dusty, dry air of the Alamo must be to Syria. She should have noticed, even though he didn’t talk about Syria. She should have known him well enough to see why he was so off balance this mission. She was ashamed, not to have noticed sooner.

The soft rumbling of Wyatt’s voice carried, as he spoke, “It was kind of like this, though. We were pinned down. Outmanned. Outgunned. I’m the only one that made it out.” The more Wyatt spoke, the more Lucy ached for her husband, “Wish I knew,” He said, answering Bowie’s question on how long his men lasted, “I left them behind. One of us had to get this important piece of intelligence out. So, we flipped a damn coin. It was between me and my buddy Zachary. We were the only two not wounded. I’m the jerk that had to call heads. Zach, he said I was meant to survive. You know, like it was fate. As if that’s a thing. So, six men held off a hundred fighters, so I could escape. I left them there to die. And they gave me a medal for it.” His voice was breaking up as he finished speaking. Without seeing him, Lucy knew there were tears in his eyes. She wanted to get up, to hug him, to do something. But she didn’t think she was what Wyatt needed, in the moment. So instead, she kept ripping bandages, wanting nothing more than to wrap her husband in her arms and never let go.

When Wyatt stood, he spotted her. Their eyes met. She opened her mouth to say something, but she couldn’t think of anything. Looking down, Wyatt just walked away. But something had stirred in Lucy when Bowie promised Wyatt that they were going to save the civilians. From her husband’s words to the resolution Bowie displayed, suddenly, Lucy knew what to write. Abandoning the bandages, Lucy quickly walked towards the office, trying to keep the words spiraling through her head there until she had time to take pen to paper. Thinking about Wyatt, about the stories of the Alamo she had read years before, of the brave people she had met since landing in 1836, Lucy wrote:

_When I was young, I’d read stories about great heroes doing great deeds. The truth is, real heroes don’t look at all like I pictured. They’re far from perfect. Bull-headed, stubborn, reckless. And also recklessly brave. They charge in without a thought to themselves. Not without fear or doubt, but in spite of it. We are all scared. But we are going to fight and die anyway, to give everyone else a chance at a better future. Because the future matters. Victory or Death. _

_Signed, the Men and Women of the Alamo._

Looking at her finished letter, Lucy let out a deep breath. It wasn’t what Travis had written, but it was from her heart, just like Wyatt said. It was about him, entirely. It was an ode to her husband. Reading it, Lucy prayed it would be enough to spurn the people into action. Victory or death, even for her, because if the letter didn’t succeed, she didn’t know what she would return home to. Folding the letter in half, Lucy closed her eyes. It had to be enough.

Then, the drums stopped. Lucy froze. There was an explosion. The Battle of the Alamo had begun.

* * *

In a frenzy, Lucy gathered the women and children, leading them to the building closest to the chapel. She couldn’t risk them getting injured from the grenades, but she couldn’t leave them anywhere else around the compound. If they were going to escape, they needed to be in the chapel and ready to move. There were so many explosions, Lucy had no way of knowing when Rufus set of the grenades. She was kneeling over a small boy who had been hit with some shrapnel, applying a bandage to his neck, when Rufus burst into their hiding place. When he told her, he had got their escape route, she threw herself into her arms in relief. He had saved them. Together, Lucy and Rufus helped the terrified civilians up. She couldn’t join them, yet, she needed to get Wyatt. For protection, Lucy handed a rifle to one of the women. She turned to Rufus to tell him where she was going, before sprinting out into the battle. Rufus followed closely behind, the women and children trailing him on the way to the chapel.

Chaos. That was the only word that came to Lucy’s mind as she stepped out amongst the gunfire. She had never seen anything like it before. It was hard to find Wyatt through the bullets and the smoke. When she spotted him, she nearly cried. He was alright. Keeping low to try to avoid getting shot, Lucy ran to him. She tripped a little when she got close and landed harshly against the ground.

“Wyatt,” She called out, grabbing him.

“Lucy?” He yelled, surprised by her. He turned away from her, looking back at the battle.

Pulling him back to look at her, Lucy said, “Rufus did it. There’s a way out. Come on, let’s go.” As Lucy went to stand up, a bullet came whizzing by. It was close, incredibly close, she felt it move through the air. Wyatt saved her, pulling her down and against him, shielding her from the shot. “We have to go. Now.” Despite being directly in front of Wyatt, he didn’t seem to see her. His blue eyes were glazed over slightly and looking into the distance. Terrified, Lucy called out his name in question.

"You go ahead, Lucy,” He told her, “Go ahead, okay? I’ll catch up. You get out, get the women and children out. I’ll get out on my own.”

“What?” Lucy gasped, “No! Are you insane?”

As they spoke, Wyatt started loading his rifle. Why he was using the rifle and not his handgun, Lucy did not know. “You don’t need me to get out, Lucy. You can get out. But I can’t leave them. I can’t leave good men to die, again.”

Shaking her head, Lucy replied, “You can’t stay behind, Wyatt. Everybody dies. You’ll die.”

“I’ll catch up, I’ll be fine,” Wyatt insisted. Lucy could barely understand what he was saying. If he thought she was leaving him behind, he was insane. His desire to stay behind was insane. As Lucy struggled to process his words, Wyatt turned back to the battle, firing a quick shot.

When he dropped back down to reload, Lucy said, “No. I am not leaving you behind.”

“I’ll catch up,” He said again, tears in his eyes. It was almost like he was begging her.

“You won’t, Wyatt. You’ll die. With everybody else.” As she spoke, he turned to fire another shot. Lunging forward, Lucy grabbed him and pulled him back to face her. “You won’t catch up. It’s impossible. You do not get to leave me, Wyatt Logan.” Reaching up, she cupped his face, making him meet her eyes, “I need you. I love you.” Lucy pressed a fierce kiss to his lips. When she pulled back, she said, “And I am _not_ leaving you behind. Okay?”

Tears stung her eyes and she saw the same reflected in Wyatt’s. But, for the first time since they left on the mission, he seemed to actually see her. His eyes focused on her. The distant look faded. “Get ready to run,” He told her.

“Okay,” Lucy gasped. Relief flooded her body. Wyatt urged her forward as he turned to the boy beside him, helping him up. Lucy ran and she knew that Wyatt was close behind her. When they reached the chapel, Lucy had Wyatt and the boy enter first. She didn’t want to lose sight of her husband. Following them, she closed the door behind them. Wyatt hurried over to Rufus to help him with the remaining women. Lucy, in turn, went to talk to the boy Wyatt had saved twice. Talking to him, in the midst of battle, Lucy realized who he was. John Smith, the first mayor of San Antonio. He could not be left behind. Behind her, the door opened. Lucy nearly screamed, terrified it was Santa Anna’s men. Instead, it was Bowie and Crockett, barricading the door behind them. They were both injured, badly. With Bowie at the door, Lucy took the opportunity to tell Wyatt who John was. Having saved the boy, Lucy was sure Wyatt could convince John to leave with them. They could not leave him behind to die. When Wyatt started helping John up to leave, Lucy let out a sigh. Already in the opening Rufus had made, Lucy helped John down. Rufus came down next, following John and helping him along the way. She ducked down after them. When Wyatt didn’t follow immediately, Lucy was horrified. The sound of gunfire was echoing around her, even in the aqueduct, but she stopped walking. She wasn’t going to leave him. She was about to turn around, to get him down into the aqueduct or to die trying, when he collided with her.

“Lucy?” He asked.

“Oh, thank god,” She gasped, “I thought you—”

Wyatt interrupted her and placed a warm hand against her back to urge her forward, “I know. I’m right here. We need to go.” Nodding, Lucy scrambled forward. Each step she took the panic she felt ebbed away. The sound of gunfire grew distant, then disappeared, and Wyatt’s footsteps comfortably followed her the entire way to the river.

* * *

“That must have been one hell of a letter,” Wyatt said giving Lucy’s hand a tight squeeze. He was perched atop one of the numerous desks while she sat beside him in the swivel chair, she had all but collapsed in upon exiting the Lifeboat. Pride rushed through him, pounding against his chest in beat with his heart. His wife did that. She was the reason there was a Texas, his home state. She was the reason history was the same. He loved her so much and he was so amazed by her. There was a lot they needed to talk about. From the mission to their fight, as well as the lost feeling he had been carrying since he had been fired the morning before. But for the moment, that could all wait. She leaned against him and let out a sigh. What mattered was that they were alright. As the three time travelers and Mason marveled at Lucy’s accomplishment, Agent Christopher and Deputy Director Ramsey approached.

“I gather Flynn is still out there,” Ramsey said. He knew his assignment was results based and he had failed to provide results, but he would have liked to put of this conversation a little longer, so he could celebrate what Lucy had done.

Dropped Wyatt’s hand, Lucy turned to the Deputy Director and immediately defended her husband, “Yes, but he did have a very large army at his back this time.” He had to hold back his smile at her words. Of course Lucy would stand up to the Deputy Director of the NCTC for him. That was who she was.

Ignoring Lucy, Ramsey met Wyatt’s gaze and said, “You’re relieved of duty. You are free to return to your SWAT duties.”

Slowly, Wyatt stood up from the desk. With a quick squeeze to Lucy’s shoulder, he silently promised to meet her afterwards. Addressing the rest of the group as Wyatt left, Agent Christopher said, “Master Sergeant Baumgardner is in the waiting room, where he is about to learn that time travel is real.”

Wyatt was barely five steps away, when Lucy spoke again, “No, no. Hold on. You cannot replace Wyatt.”

“Lucy,” Wyatt started to say, trying to stop his wife from getting fire right alongside him.

Ignoring him, Lucy continued, “We’re the ones out there risking our lives. I trust him. He makes the right choice every time. In every situation. I won’t do it without him. I go where he goes.”

“We won’t do it without him,” Rufus said, standing from the desk chair he had been sitting in. Mason scolded Rufus, trying to get him to stop, but like Lucy, he didn’t listen. “I know I’m just supposed to shut up and cooperate, but I can’t. I won’t.”

Turning to her boss, Agent Christopher pointed out, “Rufus is our only pilot, sir. Without him,” She trailed off, leaving the implication unspoken. Without Rufus, there was no stopping Flynn. Without Rufus, there was no time travel.

“What you’ve done to deserve this, I can’t imagine.” Ramsey said. Wyatt had the same thought as Ramsey, especially after their most recent mission and the way he had treated Lucy, he was amazed. She was incredible. So was Rufus, for being so loyal to him. He had tried to stay behind to help the fighters at the Alamo, when he already had his own team to protect. Silently, Wyatt vowed never to make that mistake again.

“So he can stay?” Lucy asked.

Agent Christopher shrugged, “Seems you gave us no choice.” When Ramsey turned away, Agent Christopher gave the trio a warm smile. Wyatt smiled back, remembering what Ramsey had said earlier, that she had fought for him staying with the team. As the Homeland agent started walking away, Lucy turned to Wyatt and threw her arms around his neck. She was laughing and holding him tight.

“You go where I go?” He asked.

Face pressed against Wyatt’s shoulder, he felt more than saw her nod, “I go where you go.”

"So do I,” Rufus added, clapping Wyatt on the back as he walked past, “Just without the, y’know, romantic implications.”

* * *

There was a lot Lucy had to be thankful for. But, as she walked out of the Mason Industries bathroom and into the locker room, for a moment she was most thankful for hot showers and warm towels. Washing off the grit and dirt from the Alamo had been freeing. She had brought her clothing with her into the bathroom, so she was already in clean, modern clothing. All she needed from the locker room were her keys and jewelry. Expecting the locker room to be empty, she was surprised to see Wyatt. They hadn’t spoken, but she had assumed they would meet at home since they came in different cars. Not only was Wyatt in the locker room, he wasn’t alone.

“Dave!” Lucy exclaimed, surprised to see him. She froze as soon as his name left her lips, realizing in that moment that, because of the timeline shift, she didn’t actually know David Baumgardner.

Pausing his conversation with Wyatt, Dave turned to Lucy. “Do I know you?” He asked, looking her up and down.

With two long strides, Wyatt walked to Lucy’s side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “No, you don’t,” He said, before Lucy could bumble her way through a rambled conversation as she tended to do, “But you should. Bam-Bam, this is my wife, Lucy.” Immediately, she looked up at Wyatt and smiled. It had been well over a year since their first wedding, but every time he introduced her as his wife she preened.

Dave raised his brow in shock, “Wife? And I wasn’t invited?”

“It was pretty quick,” Wyatt said, “She’s something special.”

Reaching forward, Dave offered his hand for Lucy to shake. She quickly met his grasp. “She must be, if she got you to move on after Jess.” Straightening back up, Dave nodded at Wyatt, “I’ve got a plane to catch, but I expect to hear the details about this,” He said motioning between Wyatt and Lucy, “Later.” With a wink directed toward Lucy, Dave pivoted on his feet and left the locker room.

Slowly, Lucy lowered herself to the locker room bench, Wyatt sat himself down beside her. Shaking her head, Lucy said, “Meeting someone I already know? Almost as weird as meeting a fiancé I didn’t know.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Wyatt replied.

In response, Lucy took Wyatt’s hand into her own. Like the previous missions, neither of them wore their wedding rings. Once back in the present, both were happy to put their rings back on. Tracing her fingers over his ring was soothing for Lucy. She took a moment, looking at their intertwined fingers and the matching rings. The two of them had been through so much together and they were still standing, she could handle a hard conversation. Lucy sighed heavily, “We need to talk. About the mission. About you.”

“Yeah, we do,” Wyatt agreed.

“What was going on today, Wyatt?” Lucy asked, looking up at her husband with pleading eyes, “You were off, you were struggling... you tried to stay behind in the Alamo! I was terrified, Wyatt, I was worried about you. I still am.”

With a sigh, Wyatt replied, “I’m sorry, Luce, for everything. I messed up. I was in my head. I,” He paused for a moment, “I was so caught up in being fired and stopping Flynn that I lost myself. I was focusing on the mission, on stopping Flynn, and nothing else. I failed you and Rufus. You were right, the job is more than stopping Flynn and I forgot that.”

“And what about wanting to stay behind?” Lucy pushed, “I heard what you said to Bowie, about Syria.”

Choking up a little, Wyatt’s voice grew hoarse, “There’s a lot I haven’t told you about that mission, Lucy. A lot that I don’t want you to know, don’t want to burden you with. But, being in the Alamo, the dust, the heat, it felt like I was there again. I felt like they were with me and I had the chance to stay, to help, unlike before.”

Tightening her grip on his hand, her thumb swiping across the cool metal of his wedding band, Lucy said, “We’re married, Wy. Twice over. For better or for worse. That includes sharing your burdens with me, all of them.” Gently, Lucy pressed a lingering kiss to Wyatt’s cheek, “You helped me over the hump, I can help you with this.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Wyatt asked, letting out a watery chuckle.

“Not staying at the Alamo, for one,” Lucy replied. Her sentence was punctuated with a long yawn.

“I think that means it’s time to head home,” Wyatt said.

Shaking her head, Lucy tried to argue, but she yawned again as she spoke, “We still have more to talk about. Like,” She yawned again, “Maybe seeing a therapist.”

Despite the heaviness of the conversation, Wyatt let out another light laugh at Lucy’s attempt to fight off sleep, “And we can continue this conversation at home, in the morning. Come on,” He said, standing up from the bench, pulling Lucy up with him, “I’ll drive, we can leave your car here for the night.”. Blinking sleep out of her eyes, Lucy nodded. With a protective arm wrapped around Lucy’s shoulders, he led her out to the parking lot. The chill in the Autumn air was refreshing after spending the past two days in the dry Texas heat. When they reached Wyatt’s truck, he helped Lucy in. Her exhaustion had hit her like a truck, coming out of nowhere. She fell asleep on the drive home and barely awoke, even as Wyatt scooped her up from her seat to carry her in. The last thought she had as Wyatt tucked her into bed was that, no matter the fights they had, no matter the struggles they faced, she was lucky to have him as her husband. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, all! As always, kudos or reviews are a joy to receive. The next chapter is currently in progress so I can't guarantee the next update will be within the week, but it'll be ups ASAP.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out, it was an absolute beast to write. I’m not sure when the next chapter will be ready for this same reason, since I wanted to share this as soon as it was done. That said, enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think!

Slamming his hand atop his alarm, Wyatt expected the incessant beeping that woke him up to stop. When it continued, he groaned and sat up, turning over to Lucy’s side of the bed figuring it was her alarm. Her alarm wasn’t going off and her side of the bed was empty. Waking up more, Wyatt realized he smelled smoke. Calling out for Lucy, Wyatt scrambled out of bed. When he reached the hallway, the sound of her grumbling led him to the kitchen. Standing over the sink, was a panicked looking Lucy. She was clutching a slightly charred looking frying pan, running water over the burnt remains of what must have been her attempt at breakfast. She jumped when he called her name again, dropping the pan into the sink and spinning around.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” She cried out, “I wanted to make breakfast for you. After everything at the Alamo…” She trailed off, “I just thought it would be nice,” She finished with a shrug.

A smile tugged at Wyatt’s lips as he walked up to her, wrapping his arms around her, “The gesture is greatly appreciated, ma’am, but I thought we agreed to leave the cooking to me.”

Blushing slightly, Lucy replied, “I did manage to make toast,” She tilted her head towards the toaster. In front of it was a plate of golden-browned bread, for once without the blackened char that generally accompanied any attempt Lucy made at cooking. Laughing, Wyatt told her the toast was enough. He reached over to turn off the sink, leaving the pan to soak in the water. Then, with one hand still wrapped around Lucy, Watt grabbed the plate of toast and led her to the kitchen table. As they ate the generous amount of toast Lucy had made, she explained what happened to the eggs. She had been going back and forth between the stove and the toaster, proud of herself for making an edible piece of toast she kept making more, ending up with the entire loaf on the plate. She became so focused on the toast and her success that she completely forgot the eggs until a burning smell reached her nose. By the time she turned around the eggs are blackened blobs and the smoke detector was going off. Ashamed by her mistake, Lucy buried her head in her hands as she admitted how she let the cooking get away from her. Wyatt, however, found it endearing. He didn’t marry Lucy because she could cook. In fact, her inability to so much as boil a pot of water was one of the many things about her that charmed him. She looked up at him, rolling her eyes, when he told her who needed eggs with toast that tasted so good. When they finished their carb heavy breakfast, they moved to the couch, leaving their discarded plates on the kitchen table. The plates could wait, the talk they had pressed pause on the night before, however, needed to happen.

Lucy curled up on one end of the couch, her back against the armrest and her legs pulled close to her chest. Wyatt sat on the opposite end, his head propped up with a hand, his elbow on the back of the couch. He let out a heavy breath. The worry in Lucy’s eyes made him ache. He hated that he was the reason that look was there. Reaching across the space between them on the couch, Wyatt took Lucy’s into her hands in an attempt to offer some semblance of comfort. Letting out a heavy breath, Lucy loosened up, lowering her legs and letting out the tension from her shoulders. With Lucy more relaxed, Wyatt released another deep breath, and apologized.

He apologized for the Alamo, for trying to get her to leave him behind, even for a minute. He apologized for being bullheaded through the entire mission. He apologized for making her think he had stopped caring. Then he explained. He explained that he had convinced himself that nothing mattered other than eliminating Flynn because, if he failed, Lucy would have to go on the missions without him. He explained that nothing terrified him more than her hurtling through time without him, that she could risk coming home to a world where he didn’t know her or he was gone, just like Amy. He explained how much the Alamo felt like Syria. He explained that there were some moments that the dusty and tense atmosphere of the Alamo was so similar to Syria that he saw his teammates, heard their voices, thought he was leaving them behind to die, again. Then he told her about Syria, details he had never shared with her before. He told her about the coin flip, about Zach’s mirthless laugh when it landed on heads. He told her how he could hear the shots and screams as he fled with the intelligence. He told her how he was sent home days later. He told her how when he got home, he wasn’t really there. He told her how he couldn’t connect with Jess, how they fought about everything, how he couldn’t say a goddamn word without wanting to scream, throw up, or cry. He told her everything he could think of, everything he hadn’t told her before, everything he should have told her.

Once he started speaking, the words wouldn’t stop. It was like a dam within him had finally broke. Every nightmare that haunted him, horror that he had witnessed, he shared. Since meeting Lucy, he had shared a lot with her, but never so much about his deployments, about his struggles with the memories of war. He had always felt like he shared enough with Lucy, but as his words kept pouring out, he realized how much he had failed to tell her. As he spoke, he started crying, but he didn’t realize until Lucy reached out and slowly wiped away a tear with the pad of her thumb. He had finished speaking at that point, having finished pouring his heart out. Lucy was crying, too, Wyatt realized when he looked up at her. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Wyatt felt, for the first time in a long time, maybe the first time ever, that a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Everything he had held since joining the army, he finally told someone. He finally told Lucy, which made it all the more important. When it became clear to Lucy that he had finished talking, she flung herself into Wyatt’s arms, cradling his head against her. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head and held him close.

Running a comforting hand through his hair, Lucy whispered, “I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that alone, Wyatt.” Pressing another kiss against his hairline, she added, “Thank you for sharing this with me. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

There were so many times in his life that Wyatt found himself wondering how he got so lucky to have Lucy, as she gently stroked her fingers through his hair, that thought lingered heavily. “I wish I had told you sooner,” Wyatt said softly, “But I’m glad I told you now.”

“I’m glad you told me, too,” Lucy replied. They were quiet for a while after that, letting their tears dry and their breathing even. Wyatt sunk into Lucy’s embrace like a rock thrown into the ocean, settled, at rest. He felt safe. When he sat up, extracting himself from Lucy’s hug, Wyatt cupped her face with both hands. Leaning forward, he pressed a light kiss to her lips, a silent thank you. She smiled in response and then made a suggestion that Wyatt had never considered, “Have you ever thought of finding a therapist?”

* * *

Later that day, after their emotions settled, Lucy and Wyatt had different things on their agenda. Because of the drama from the day before, being fired and then rehired, Wyatt was required at Mason Industries to sign paperwork. After his conversation with Lucy, Wyatt followed her advice. In his meeting with Agent Christopher he discussed bringing in a therapist with high enough clearance that he could talk about anything, regardless of confidentiality. Agent Christopher, thankfully, agreed.

Lucy also had a difficult conversation that evening. It had been over a week since the confrontation at her mother’s house and Lucy had to talk to her. Less than a month ago, her mother had, at best, weeks left to live. Lucy knew she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she squandered her relationship with her healthy mother. Especially considering Amy was gone. Her mother was all she had left. So, with a great deal of mustered strength, Lucy rapped her fist against her mother’s front door, a little too nervous to announce her presence with the jarring sound of the doorbell.

It took a few moments for the door to open, during which Lucy was wringing her hands, wishing she was wearing her wedding band which she usually fiddled with when nervous. Her mother opened the door with a polite smile which faded as soon as she saw who was on the front step, “Lucy,” Was her only greeting.

“Hi, mom,” Lucy said with a strained smile, “Can I come in?”

Carol didn’t reply, but she stepped to the side and gestured to the open space. Taking the motion as an invitation in, Lucy stepped into the familiar front hall. She didn’t go any further into the house, though. Once the door closed behind her, Carol didn’t make the move to leave the front hall, so neither did Lucy. Tension was heavy in the air. In lieu of spinning her ring on her finger, Lucy clutched her locket. “How are you doing, mom?” Lucy asked, her voice strained.

Placing her hands on her hips, Carol rounded on Lucy, “How am I? How am _I_? I’m not the one who has abandoned everything! I’m not the one who keeps disappearing for _no reason_! I’m not the one with a mysterious job that she won’t even tell her own mother about! And you come in here and ask how I’m doing?”

“I, I know things have been weird lately,” Lucy started, but her mom interrupted her quickly.

“Weird?” Carol snapped, “Weird is missing work for a day or forgetting your phone, weird is _not_ ending your engagement and running away with a stranger. How could you do that Lucy? We had a plan. A clear plan. A solid plan. We were on track for a good life, Lucy. What happened?” Before Lucy could answer the question, Carol continued her rant, “You know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know,” Sighing, Carol softened her tone, her anger seeming to ebb away, “I want you to come home, Lucy, come back, if not to Noah, come back here. You’ve had your fun, your break from real life. It’s time to come back.”

Shaking her head, Lucy replied, “I can’t do that, mom.”

“Then why come, Lucy?” Carol asked, sounding both angry and defeated, “I made it clear that you weren’t welcome here until you came to your senses.”

Lucy’s heart sank. This wasn’t how she wanted the conversation with her mom to go. She had hoped that, after more than a week, her mother had calmed down. She had hoped that enough time had passed that her mom would listen to her, at least talk to her, and instead she was met with all the cold, disappointed, fury, that Carol Preston could muster. She had even brought a peace offering, a Snickers bar tucked in the bottom of her purse. Considering how the conversation was going, the candy was going to remain there. What Lucy had wanted, more than anything, to be able to tell her mother about being married to Wyatt. She wanted to share her happiness with her mother. Judging by her mother’s persisting anger, that wasn’t a possibility. Summoning all her inner strength, Lucy took a steadying breath and replied, “If you don’t want to see me, I’ll go,” She paused, taking another deep breath, and said what she was most afraid to voice, “But before I leave, I need you to tell me my father’s name. Something, something’s come up, and I need his information.”

Ever since learning her father wasn’t her biological father, one question had been lingering in her mind. Who was her father? If her mother was being reasonable, she might have been able to put off asking, but with their tense relationship, Lucy needed the truth.

"Is that what all of this is about?” Carol accused, “Acting out because I’m your mother.”

Lucy almost stomped her foot, feeling like a little kid throwing a temper tantrum. Growing up, she had never pushed back against her mother. That was always Amy’s role. Standing in the front hall, trying to get the truth and connect with her mother, Lucy was gaining a new understanding of her sister. Carol had never been as strict with Amy, but that didn’t mean she accepted her daughter’s more outrageous traits or actions. All of the fights Lucy had witnessed between the two made so much more sense. She had always thought Amy was brave. She had always known Amy was stronger than her. But facing off with her mom, Lucy to grasp just how incredible her sister was. “This is about me mom, not you. This is about what makes me happy.”

“And _he_ makes you happy?”

Lucy wasn’t sure if her mother meant Wyatt or her unnamed father, but Lucy firmly nodded, “Yes, he does.”

* * *

Lucy sank lower into her seat, hoping she was out of sight. She had her hand pressed to her mouth, the cool feeling of her wedding band keeping her grounded. All but storming out of her mother’s house after their fight, Lucy had left with the paper with her father’s name clenched tightly in her hand. It was easy to find Benjamin Cahill online, concerningly so. Part of Lucy wanted to cry, after the fight, after the timeline change, sitting in her car staring at a house felt so anticlimactic and monumental at the same time. His house, a beautiful, large, white house, in the middle of Menlo Park suburbia. It was less than half an hour from the house Lucy grew up in, yet she had never met him, in either timeline. He was so close, yet he was a total stranger. According to what she could find online he was a doctor. He was married. He had been married before Lucy was born. Was that why she grew up thinking Henry was her father? Because she was the product of an affair? Spiraling thoughts of _what ifs_ and _whys_ were clouding Lucy’s head.

She had driven to his house without thinking. The desire to know the truth overpowered all rational thought. Lucy hadn’t considered what she would do when she got there. Would she confront him? Yell at him? Introduce herself? Did he even know she existed? All of the possibilities were too much for her, she had spent her life running from uncertainty and suddenly everything in her life was off balance. Which was why, instead of knocking on the large, black front door, Lucy was hunched over in her car, willing herself to be invisible. She was so focused on staring a hole through the front door, of wondering who was hidden in that white house before her, that the ring of her phone startled her. Fumbling to reach her phone, it took Lucy a second to steady her hand enough to look at the screen.

Reading the caller ID of Mason Industries, Lucy answered immediately, “Hey.”

Agent Christopher was on the other end of the call, “Lucy, Flynn’s taken out the Mothership.”

“Yeah,” Lucy said, starting up her car, “I’m, I’m on my way.” She took one last lingering look at her father’s house, before pulling away. It took her about half an hour to get to Mason Industries. Once she arrived, she was rushed straight into the conference room for the mission briefing. Wyatt, having already been at Mason, was in the conference room before her. He looked up at her with concern, but Agent Christopher dived right into the brief. Flynn had jumped to June 20th, 1972 in the Washington D.C. area. As soon as the Homeland agent said the date and location, Lucy had an idea for what Flynn was after. She blurted out, “Nixon Tapes,” causing all eyes in the room to land on her. “Sorry,” She apologized quickly, “It’s just, that’s probably what Flynn’s doing, right? June 1972? That’s the first thing I think of with that date.”

Going off of Lucy’s suggestion, Agent Christopher told the team that she would get them the identification needed for access to the White House. When she dismissed them, sending all three to get into their disguise, it was the first chance Lucy and Wyatt had to talk to each other since she had arrived. Rufus, having spent enough time with the couple over the course of the previous missions, could tell they were going to have a private conversation and made himself scarce as all three got ready.

“How did it go with your mom,” Wyatt asked as he searched through the racks of gaudy 1970s suits. He pulled out a bright pink shirt and pastel checkered suit pants and dipped into the changing room as Lucy spoke.

Lucy let out a heavy sigh, “It was bad, Wy. We didn’t even make it out of the front hall before we started fighting. She’s still furious, talking about how I’m throwing away my future and ruining our legacy, whatever the hell that means.” Like Wyatt, Lucy pulled down an equally tacky outfit. It was a high collared multicolored dress. When she stepped out of the changing room, one of the Mason employees went to work on her hair, flattening it into an appropriate 70s style. “I couldn’t even tell her about us,” She sighed again, “She already seems to hate you enough for ‘taking’ me away from Noah, and that’s just living with you. I think she would have killed me if I told her about,” She raised her hand, showing off the wedding band, “Y’know.”

“But were you able to ask her about…” Wyatt trailed off, knowing he was breaching a touchy subject. He was finishing getting ready, snapping on suspenders and tightening a very wide tie.

“Yeah,” Lucy nodded, smiling at the Mason employee who handed her a burnt orange peacoat and large necklace to finish off her outfit, “I asked. She gave me his name. Benjamin Cahill. I Googled him. He was easy to find.”

"And?”

“And I went to his house as soon as I left mom’s,” Lucy replied, “Then I just sat in the car staring at his door until I got the call from Christopher and came straight here.”

Turning to take a bright plaid jacket that matched his pants from the nearby wardrobe attendant, Wyatt looked up at Lucy and said, “So, just to be clear,” His tone serious but his lips quirking slightly, “You lurked outside your dad’s house for an hour without ever knocking. You know there’s stalker laws, right?”

Both of them dressed for the mission, they started walking to the hangar as they continued the conversation, “Correction,” Lucy said, raising a finger for emphasis, “I have a dad. This man is just my biological father.”

“Sorry,” Wyatt replied. Then he added, “You’re still his daughter, though.”

“A daughter that he didn’t want to see for my entire life,” She replied.

Turning on his heels, Wyatt stopped walking and came face to face with Lucy. He reached out to her, placing his hands on her upper arms and holding her close. “Listen, he said, “I don’t know what kind of guy is gonna answer that door, but I do know at some point, you’re gonna have to knock,” Pressing a kiss on her forehead, he continued, “And I’ll be here for you when you do, no matter who opens that door.”

His grip on her arms was comforting. It was grounding. He always had that effect on her. She smiled slightly at him, grateful for his reassurance. Lucy was about to respond when Agent Christopher approached them, handing out their fake press credentials. Slipping the lanyard around her neck, Lucy couldn’t stop herself from talking about the Watergate Tapes. Scandal in the White House had been one of the first historical topics to catch her attention. The drama was intriguing, and it showed how the actions of a single person influenced global history. Having the chance to hear the missing eighteen and a half minutes from the tapes was enticing. She was still talking about the Nixon scandal as she climbed into the Lifeboat, right behind Rufus. 1970s D.C. had to be the least dangerous location they had been to for their missions, and Lucy was excited. After everything at the Alamo and the fight with her mother, stopping Flynn’s scheme of the day and exploring the past seemed like the perfect way for Lucy for clear her mind. For once, Lucy thought, the mission could even be fun.

* * *

Concern for Lucy tingled at the back of Wyatt’s mind as the team walked for the heart of Washington. They both had the habit of worrying about the other more than themselves. Having scheduled an appointment with a therapist when he was at Mason earlier, it was easy for Wyatt to let his own issues drift away and focus on Lucy’s struggles instead. He barely heard Rufus’s jokes about 70s fashion or Lucy’s continued complaining about the mud caked to her shoes. She had been so strong for him over the past two days, after the Alamo, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t struggling. Combining the fight with her mother, learning her father’s identity, and his issues, Lucy had been dealt a hard hand emotionally in just over twenty-four hours. Wyatt wanted to do something, anything really, to help his wife, to lessen her burden, but he didn’t know what he could do. Her entire life had been turned upside down and there was nothing he could do to help her. Part of him felt like a failure, as a husband, for not being able to ease her pain.

A fight between a hippie and a soldier on the edge of Lafayette Square jostled Wyatt out of his thoughts. He sprung forward, catching the hippie as he was shoved away, attempting to stop the fight from becoming bigger. A riot feet away from the White House would be far from covert. The fight surged around Wyatt, though. Before he knew it, he was separated from Lucy and Rufus, surrounded by more of the peace-loving protestors, coming to defend their peer. His concern for Lucy increased exponentially when he heard her desperately screaming his name. He spun around, ignoring the punches that were being thrown around him, calling out for his wife. Again, he heard her call for help, but in the confusion of the fight, he couldn’t find her. Calling out for Lucy, trying desperately to find her, Wyatt managed to extricate himself from the fight. As he burst out of the chaotic crowd, Wyatt came face to face with Flynn. Instinctively, Wyatt lunged forward, ready to attack the terrorist. But before he could move towards Flynn, there was a large arm flung across his chest, stopping his movements. An intense pain radiated against his back and Wyatt inadvertently spasmed. Realizing too late that the fight was an ambush, there was nothing Wyatt could do he was tased by the goon behind him. His cries were muffled as a rag was held up against his mouth. Breathing in, he knew it was drugged, but again, there was nothing he could do. Lucy’s cries were still ringing in his ears as the world around him grew fuzzy. Everything was darkening. He felt his knees go weak and, unable to stop himself, he fell back against the man behind him. The last thing he saw before falling unconscious was Flynn standing over him, an almost pitying look in the terrorist’s eye. His last thought was that he’d failed Lucy. She needed him and he had failed.

* * *

Startling awake, everything is blurry for a moment. His vision clears after a few blinks and, as Wyatt comes to, he remembers what happened. Flynn set them up, he probably orchestrated the fight somehow as a distraction, and then took them down. Not knowing how long he was out; Wyatt does his best to assess the situation before alerting anyone else that he’s awake. He’s sitting up, which is good, better than alternative positions, and he isn’t hurting other than where he was tased, also a good thing. He’d be ready to fight when he got the chance. His wrists are bound behind his back, held in place by a set of handcuffs. He gives a firm tug, hoping for there to be some leeway, but the cuffs are tight. Glancing to his right, Wyatt comes face to face with Rufus, also cuffed to a chair. 

“You okay?” Rufus asked.

"Peachy,” Wyatt snarked, as he turned the other way, praying Lucy was on the other side of him. Beside the door to the room, stood one of Flynn’s men. They weren’t alone. Turning his head more, he saw Lucy. He let out a sigh. Like Rufus and him, she was also cuffed to a chair. But the reassuring smile that twitched at the corner of her lips told Wyatt that she was alright, that whatever happened while he was unconscious, she wasn’t hurt. He wanted to ask what happened, if she was still okay, but his thoughts were still a little sluggish from the drugs and he couldn’t formulate any words before the door opened and Flynn swaggered in.

“Recognize this room?” Flynn asked, looking around. Wyatt took the opportunity to survey the space, look for possible weapons and escape routes. Wherever they were, it was old, probably abandoned for at least ten years. It was dusty, the wallpaper was faded and warping, and there was a heavy smell of rot. When all three remained silent, Flynn placed his hands on his hips and continued, “You stayed here the night Abraham Lincoln was shot.” The terrorist moved, taking off his jacket. Wyatt bit back a sigh, realizing Flynn was going to monologue. He didn’t care what Flynn had to say, what his insane explanations for ruining history might be. Flynn added, “A few weeks for us, a century for them.”

Testing the terrorist's limits, to see what he could get away with as a prisoner, Wyatt sighed and said, “Oh, god, you’re gonna talk us to death, aren’t you?”

Flynn ignored him, which is good, Wyatt thought. Less good, was the terrorist focusing his attention on Lucy. “I had a hunch I’d find you on the way to the White House, Lucy,” Flynn said, slipping his hands into his pockets. Wyatt glared at the other man. He’d rather have the terrorist focusing on him than Lucy. If attention was on him, he could control the situation, with it on Lucy, she was in more danger. “I need you to do something for me,” Flynn added.

"We’re not getting the Nixon tape for you,” Lucy replied, her voice steady despite the situation. Pride swelled in Wyatt’s chest, intermixing with his fear. She was brave, even when being held hostage. She was incredible, he thought.

“Not necessary, already got it myself,” He pulled the tape in question out of his pocket, proving the point.

Voice still even and with her eyes trained forward, Lucy said, “You broke into the White House basement.” There was no question in her tone, she was stating a fact.

“You think you’re the only ones who can forge a 1970s ID?” Flynn scoffed, “I do own a color printer and a laminator.” Talking about how he broke into the White House and killing civil servants, Flynn turned his back to the three time travelers. His goons had already closing the door, meaning there was nobody watching them. Taking the opportunity, Wyatt glanced at his bound wrists. The cuffs were modern, Flynn probably brought them to the 70s with him, but they had a standard lock. Wyatt’s eyes fell on a loose nail on the edge of his chair. Bingo. Twisting his wrist a little, he ignored the way the metal of the cuff cut into his hand, focusing on wedging his thumb over the exposed nail. With a little wiggling, Wyatt would be able to pull out the nail and have a way to pick the lock. He glanced up at Lucy, her eyes were trained on his hands as well. Meeting his eyes, she nodded, understanding what he was doing. When Flynn turned back around, Wyatt froze. He kept his hand over the nail, but stopped working at it. “I need you to find something,” Flynn said, staring directly at Lucy.

“What?” Lucy asked.

Smiling, Flynn gestured to the tape, “Let’s have a listen.” In different circumstances, Wyatt could only imagine how excited Lucy would be about hearing the lost Watergate tape. But, Wyatt was sure, being cuffed to chairs in an abandoned hotel dampened the mood. The tape started playing and, despite not knowing much about the time period, Wyatt was sure it was real. There was no doubt that the speaker, who was talking about a document and something or someone called Rittenhouse, was Nixon. Flynn flipped the switch on the, turning the recording off with Nixon mid-sentence. Was that really all Flynn wanted them to hear, Wyatt wondered. There were eighteen minutes of missing tape, but the terrorist hadn’t even played five minutes.

“Did you hear what President Nixon just said, Lucy?” Flynn asked. Clenching his jaw, Wyatt turned to glare at the terrorist. The way Flynn spoke to Lucy, as if he knew her, as if they were familiar with each other, made Wyatt’s stomach churn. He didn’t like such a vile person focusing their attention on Lucy. She was looking Flynn in the eye and nodded at her question. Tilting his head, Wyatt tried to see her expression, but from how they were seated, he had no chance of doing so. All Wyatt could do was bite back his rage when Flynn leaned forward, dominating the space around Lucy and pushed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that.”

Softly, Lucy replied, “Rittenhouse.” Wyatt froze. Did she know what Nixon was talking about? He had never heard the word Rittenhouse before, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that Lucy had.

“I guess it’s not so much my paranoid delusion anymore, is it?” Flynn asked, his face contorted with emotions that Wyatt couldn’t identify. Partially anger, partially sadness, and so much more. Flynn took a step back from Lucy, his tone of voice returning to the professional one he had used earlier, any emotion seemingly gone, “This document that Nixon wants—”

Cutting him off, Lucy said, “I don’t know anything about it.” She shook her head as her voice cracked a little, “I don’t know what he’s talking about, okay?”

“I believe you,” Flynn replied, reaching behind him and picked up a leather-bound journal, “I even looked in here. I couldn’t find anything about this document.”

Voicing the question that was running through Wyatt’s head, Rufus asked, “What’s that?”

“Oh, this is Lucy’s journal,” Flynn replied, smugly, “What? She never told you about it?”

Looking at Lucy, Wyatt asked, “What’s he talking about?”/

Flynn gasped, his sinister smile growing, before letting out a short laugh, “Not even your husband, Lucy?”

Ignoring the terrorist, Lucy turned to Wyatt. Her eyes were wide and pleading as she insisted that she didn’t write it. There was panic in Lucy’s eyes. A fear that Wyatt had never seen before, like every secret she had was about to break through. The look in her eyes worried him more than being bound to the chair. Maybe it was a residual effect of the drugs, but Wyatt was having trouble keeping up. The journal that Flynn had was related to Lucy, somehow. She said she hadn’t written it, but why would she even have to say that? Why was Flynn so focused on her? What was he missing?

“Well, it’s complicated,” Flynn said, “You see, she is _going_ to write it a few years from now. Time travel, right?” Waving his hands around his head, Flynn mimed an explosion. The terrorist seemed to be having fun with this, Wyatt realized. “It’s my guide,” Flynn continued, “Apparently, she and I are gonna be quite the team one day.”

"It’s not real,” Lucy insisted, “It’s a fake.” Oh. Wyatt realized. Somehow, Lucy had already known about the journal. That’s why she wasn’t surprised like Rufus was. That’s why she wasn’t confused like Wyatt was. She knew that Flynn had a journal, written by her, that was leading him on his rampage through time. She knew and she hadn’t told him. Lucy had kept it from him. Beside him, Lucy turned back to Flynn, arguing about the journal.

When Lucy mentioned talking about the journal with Flynn before, Rufus asked another question that began rattling through Wyatt’s head, “But you did talk to Flynn? When?”

Laughing, seeming giddy about the infighting between his adversaries, Flynn listed off dates that he had talked to Lucy. Almost every trip, it sounded like. In 1865, when Wyatt was shot and bleeding, at Flynn’s hand no less, she had talked to him. In Nazi Germany, when Wyatt had been worried out of his mind about Lucy’s wellbeing, she had talked to Flynn. Not only had she been talking to the enemy, to the killer that they had been chasing across time, she hadn’t told Wyatt about it. She had basically lied about it. With a grin, Flynn asked, “Lucy, what have you told them about us?”

Voice tight from a combination of anger and disbelief, Wyatt glared at his wife and asked, “Is that true?”

"It’s complicated,” Lucy said, pleading to him with her eyes.

Wyatt shook his head. After the last trip, after the Alamo, she had pushed him. She had him talk to her. Tell him her secrets and her pains. He poured his heart out to her that very morning and the entire time she had been holding back this monumental secret. She hadn’t trusted him with any of this. She had lied to him for weeks. She had betrayed him all while urging him to be honest. “No,” Wyatt replied, anger and disappointment boiling under his skin, “The truth is not complicated.”

"I don’t know what the truth is anymore.” Their eyes met. Silently, Lucy was trying to tell him something. Apologize, maybe. Defend her choices, seemed more likely. But Wyatt couldn’t tell what she was trying to say. He didn’t want to know what she was trying to express. There was nothing she could say that would fix the rift that just cracked between the two of them. Their entire relationship, their entire marriage, was based on honesty, on mutual trust. Yet, since they first started time traveling, she had been keeping secrets from him.

Flynn, whether he didn’t sense the moment between husband and wife or didn’t care, started talking again, “Okay, the truth is she didn’t believe in Rittenhouse until President Nixon just confirmed it.” As he spoke, he walked away from the table he had been leaning against, moving instead to stand directly in front of the three prisoners, “But for now, if Rittenhouse wants this document so badly, whatever it is, I want it first.”

“How are we supposed to find it?” Lucy asked.

Raising his eyebrows, Flynn responded, “If there’s one thing you’ve proven, it’s resourcefulness.” Reaching into his pocket, Flynn pulled out a switchblade. Wyatt bristled as the other man flipped it open. The power imbalance of the terrorist holding a knife while he was tied to a chair, unable to protect his team, put Wyatt on edge. He kept his eye on Flynn as he walked behind them. It was then that Wyatt noticed that, unlike him, Lucy and Rufus were bound with rope. Standing nearly flush against Lucy, Flynn insisted, “You’ll find a way,” before cutting through her binds with a single slash. By passing Wyatt, Flynn went behind Rufus, and cut him free as well. “If you don’t bring the document in five hours—”

Tired of the monologuing, Wyatt interrupted, “You’ll kill me? Why don’t you do it now, save everyone some time?” He looked down as he spoke, not strong enough to look at Lucy when asking to be killed. Even mad at her, he loved her.

“It’s up to you,” Flynn said, directing the comment at Lucy and Rufus.

"Go straight to the Lifeboat,” Wyatt said, staring straight at Lucy, “Screw Flynn. Do not give him what he wants.” His mind went back to the Alamo, to before the Alamo, to the fact that he was disposable. The team would go on without him. Lucy would move on eventually. He wasn’t worth them risking their lives, risking history, getting messed up in whatever the hell Rittenhouse was and Flynn’s insanity. Not when they could go home safely. Lucy furrowed her brow, looking at Wyatt like he was insane. She met his gaze, love and sorrow clear in her dark brown eyes. Quirking the corner of his mouth, Wyatt tried to smile, tried to tell Lucy that it would be okay. He nodded his head, encouraging for her to go.

But Lucy, his Lucy, was too stubborn, too headstrong, and too wonderful. “Five hours. Don’t hurt him.” Wyatt called after her, begging her to just leave, but she ignored him. Their pilot seemed to agree with Lucy, because Rufus followed close behind her, paying no heed to Wyatt’s yelling. As the door closed, Wyatt called out for Lucy one last time. Then they were gone. And he was alone with Flynn.

Chest heaving, Wyatt let out an angry yell. He was trapped. Held hostage by the man he was supposed to kill. His wife, who had been lying to him for weeks, was off on a potentially deadly mission. There was nothing he could do.

“Stubborn, that one, isn’t she?” Flynn asked, walking out from behind Wyatt and towards the door, “Hope she pulls through. For both of our sakes.”

“Don’t you dare talk about her,” Wyatt hissed through clenched teeth, glaring at Flynn.

The terrorist shrugged, a smirk on his lips, “Don’t need to talk about her, not when I can just talk to her, hmm?” At his comment, Wyatt strained against his cuffs, wanting to lunge at Flynn to strangle the smug bastard. Instead, all that happened was his chair scooched forward an inch. With a harsh laugh at Wyatt’s inability to fight, Flynn turned around, closing the door behind him, with a promise to visit later. Adding, “It would be a shame for you to die lonely now, wouldn’t it,” as he locked Wyatt in.

* * *

Pulling the nail out from his seat was harder than Wyatt had anticipated. It was wedged in at an angle, deeper than he had thought at first, and took a lot more than wiggling to get out. He had expected to have the nail out within fifteen minutes of Lucy and Rufus leaving. It was hard to tell how much time had passed since his team had left, but Wyatt was certain it was closer to an hour, maybe even two, than he would have wanted. The nail was almost an inch out, maybe an inch and a half, when the door to the room opened and Flynn sauntered in. He had to be a sadist, Wyatt thought. The way Flynn seemed to be enjoying Wyatt’s predicament, completely ignoring him as he walked through the room to fiddle with the tape player. Flynn didn’t speak, the only noise in the room coming from the whirring of the tape being rewound. As if on cue, when the tape clicked to a stop, Flynn said, “It’s got to be hard. You know as well as I do: a soldier's only as good as the guy beside him in the foxhole. And if your own team is lying to you…”

Smirking, Wyatt let out a small hum as he interrupted his captor, “You are really Jedi-mind-tricking the crap out of me, pal. You really think this psych routine's gonna work?” Despite his outward show of bravado, Wyatt was nervous. He still hadn’t worked out the nail, meaning he had no way to free himself. Being alone in the room while tied down was one thing, but Flynn joining him set off alarms in his head. What reason could Flynn possibly have to want to talk to him? Nothing good could come of it, that Wyatt was sure of.

“Not a routine, Wyatt,” Flynn replied, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked across the room to face Wyatt, “We're two grunts in the same war. The only difference is, lately, you're fighting on the wrong side. I just wish you could understand that.”

Pursing his lips, Wyatt took a steadying breath, before replying, “Well make me understand,” Flynn raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but Wyatt insisted, “No, no, no I'm serious. We're just sitting here. Two grunts, right? So, explain to me how you're not just some creepy sociopath.” Getting Flynn to talk had two benefits, considering the situation. The first, more immediate reason Wyatt why wanted to get the other man to talk was that as long as Flynn was talking, he wasn’t killing. Delaying Flynn in any way, even if just for the span of a conversation, was important. It helped Lucy. It helped Rufus. It helped Wyatt keep himself alive. The second reason was, if Wyatt were to somehow make it out of this alive, the more Flynn shares, the more intel he has. A basic strategy, sure, but judging by the look in Flynn’s eyes, it was going to work.

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” Flynn said, waving his arms out in a grand gesture of showing himself, “Not like Lucy.” At the quip, Wyatt tried to hold back a grimace. His attempt was unsuccessful, considering Flynn added, “What? Low blow?” As he settled himself into the seat beside Wyatt to tell his story. “Two years ago, my old pals at the NSA outsourced some surveillance to a group I worked with. Wanted it off the books. Standard stuff. Evade security, retrieve and review some corporate financials.”

"Thrilling,” Wyatt replied with a flat tone. Everything Flynn was saying, he already knew. It was all in the file they had on the terrorist. But, as Flynn spoke, Wyatt realized a third benefit to getting the terrorist to talk. As long as he was talking, he was distracted and, even with Flynn in the room, Wyatt was able to continue picking away at the nail. Finally, he was able to press it between his thumbs. One more good tug and the nail would be free, Wyatt realized with relief.

“Well, not until I stumbled onto huge sums of money being funneled through the Caymans to a world-renowned tech mogul, Connor Mason, to help him achieve his latest ambition: time travel.”

That was new intel. Before, Wyatt hadn’t known how Flynn found out about the work at Mason Industries. None of them had known how Flynn had discovered the top-secret project. Filing away the new information, Wyatt said, “Is that so,” Then he paused and turned to Flynn, pushing for him to continue sharing, “Where’d the money come from?”

“Hard to tell. But once I broke the encryption, one name kept popping up. Rittenhouse,” Despite Wyatt’s lack of response to the revelation, Flynn kept talking, “That's right. Rittenhouse bankrolls Connor Mason. So, I flagged these transfers to my NSA contact, and,” Flynn paused there, slowing down on his words as if he couldn’t find the right thing to say. After a second he finished, “He said he'd take care of it.”

“But he didn’t?” Wyatt asked, still searching for more details about his adversary.

“But he did.” No longer looking at Wyatt, Flynn’s eyes were trained to the floor, but the distant look in them suggested he was seeing something completely different. Something only, he could see. Wyatt studied his face, as Flynn shared, “Um, four nights later, I'm home asleep when my wife gets up in the middle of the night to go check on our little girl. She thought she heard her coughing. We call them silencers, but they're not that silent. Not at night. Not when it's two shots murdering your family.”

Everything Wyatt knew said that Flynn killed his own family. But listening to the other man, to the pain in Flynn’s voice, and seeing the tears shining in his eyes, it was hard for Wyatt to believe. “You didn’t fight back?” Wyatt asked, not able to admit to Flynn that he might believe any part of the tale.

“There were too many of them,” Flynn admitted, his voice soft, “It was dark. The bullets were flying,” Raising a hand to his eyes, Flynn wiped away tears that had yet to fall, “I barely made it out alive, and then Rittenhouse framed me for all of it, and I found myself on the run. But it was all Rittenhouse. Just because I asked a single question. And that's who they are.” Looking at Flynn felt, for one moment, like looking in a mirror. It was like looking back at himself from nearly five years ago. From before he met Lucy. When he was only pain, anger, and grief. When the only thing that concerned him was Jess’s death. When nothing in the world mattered more than justice, than vengeance. Everything Wyatt saw in that moment was a man in mourning, a broken man, who would do anything to change the past. It was something Wyatt understood all too well. Maybe Flynn hadn’t killed his family, Wyatt found himself thinking. Maybe he had been set up. But that didn’t make stealing the time machine alright. That didn’t make destroying history was allowable. That didn’t mean anything he said could or would convince Wyatt that he was anything less than psychotic. Wyatt had been on the edge of that once. Grief could turn people into monsters and that’s exactly what Garcia Flynn was. 

Sighing, Wyatt forced a smirk back on his face. He couldn’t let himself feel sympathy for Flynn. He _wouldn’t_ let himself feel sympathy for Flynn. If Wyatt could move on from Jess’s murder without going on a rampage, then Flynn could do the same. He didn’t deserve any pity. He didn’t deserve anything. “Look,” Wyatt said, “If any of this were true, you have a time machine. Why don’t you just go back and save your family?”

For the first time since Flynn started talking about his family, he looked back up at Wyatt. There was a darkness in Flynn’s eyes, spurned by Wyatt’s comment, “Like how you want to save your wife?” Wyatt’s smirk fell from his face. It had been nearly a month of knowing time travel existed and not once had Wyatt thought about saving Jess. Did that make him a bad person? That he was so happy in his life he wouldn’t change it, even if it meant leaving someone, he once loved more than anything dead? Leaning forward, Flynn got close to Wyatt’s face, knowing full well he had struck a chord, “Or is Lucy more important than her? Not that it matters. You know the rules as well as I do. Can't go back to any time I already exist. And since I don't know who put the hit out to begin with, I'm gonna just wipe Rittenhouse from the map. And once I do,” Once more, the darkness ebbed from Flynn’s eyes to be replaced with sorrow as he shrugged, “Who knows? Maybe one day I'll come back and my girls will be there again.”

Rising from his seat, Flynn’s demeanor changed like a lightning bolt. Any sign of the father longing for his daughter or the husband yearning for his wife was gone. Instead, the Flynn that Wyatt was familiar with, hostile, smug, and a little insane, returned. Grabbing the back of his seat, Flynn dragged it, moving it from beside Wyatt to in front of him. “That’s enough about me,” Flynn said, plopping back down into the seat, forcing Wyatt to face him, “Let’s talk about _you_ Master Sergeant.”

Smirking, Wyatt replied, “And if I don’t talk?”

“Then I’m sure your wife will,” Flynn responded with a smirk of his own, pulling the journal from earlier out of his pocket. “The handwriting looks familiar, no?” The terrorist held open a page of the journal before Wyatt. Eyes scanning the page, bile rose at the back of Wyatt’s throat. The mix of cursive and print letters within single words, the way the descending part of lowercase Ps, Qs, and Ys went down a little further than necessary, the lack of dots over lowercase Is. He knew that handwriting. It was the handwriting from every grocery list he had been handed over the past 3 years, the handwriting scribbled across students’ essays that had so often been scattered around his coffee table. It was Lucy’s handwriting. “She has quite a bit to say about you, you know,” Flynn continued, pulling the journal away to flip through the pages. Glinting in the depths of Flynn’s eyes was knowledge of Wyatt’s recognition. Stopping on a page, Flynn announced, “Here we go! _I worry about him, sometimes_, mind you, this is Lucy speaking, _That his is all too much for him, especially after the Alamo_.” Pausing there, Flynn stopped, letting out a laugh, “Oh yes! The mental break down you had at the Alamo. I almost forgot! And that was just yesterday, wasn’t it? Must still be struggling, Master Sergeant.”

Gritting his teeth, Wyatt tried to lunge at Flynn. Like before, the only thing that happened was his chair scraping against the floor, barely moving an inch. There was no way Flynn could know about that. No way Lucy would write it down. But it was there, wasn’t it? In Flynn’s hands, the private story of Wyatt’s PTSD, revealed to the enemy by Lucy’s own words. What was the journal, Wyatt wondered, and how did Flynn get it. But the question tingling at the back of Wyatt’s mind, that seemed more important as he listened to Flynn read aloud stories of his father beating him, was how could Lucy write this down. Flynn finished reading a passage about the time Wyatt’s father locked him out of the house the entire night one winter, when he suddenly snapped the journal shut. Lifting up his wrist, he looked at his watch.

Flynn sighed, “Two hours left. I wonder if your friends are going to make it.”

“Well why don’t you look in that magical future book. It should tell you.” He managed to keep his voice calm and steady, despite the churning of his stomach from the words Flynn had been reading.

“Doesn’t say,” Flynn replied.

With the reprieve of Flynn pausing his reading of the journal, Wyatt returned to pulling at the nail at the back of his seat. That was a goal he could concentrate on. That was something he could do. “But it told you to come to 1972?”

“It has an entry on the erased Nixon tape, yes.”

“So, how’s this end?” Wyatt asked, “Do you kill me? Am I rescued? What’s the point spread in the next Super Bowl? Who’s playing?”

Leaning forward, Flynn grasped the journal, holding it out to Wyatt almost as if it were a religious doctrine, “I don’t know what happens today because the journal doesn’t tell me everything. Lucy didn’t write about everything. And what is written does sometimes sound crazy, like a different Lucy.”

“Yeah, Lucy’s the one that sounds crazy,” Wyatt scoffed.

Tightening his grip on the journal and clenching his jaw, Flynn sat back in his seat. “Did I not prove that she wrote about you? Do you want to hear more? What she wrote about your wife?”

“She is my wife; you clearly already know that.”

With a dark grin, Flynn continued, “Your _first_ wife. Jessica. Lucy has quite a bit to say about her. She talks about how you were out with her. That dive bar. The Pelican Lounge in San Diego. She ran into an old boyfriend at the bar. You were jealous. You drank too much. As you were driving home, you had a major fight, started shouting. She told you to stop the car. She got out right there on the side of the road. And you drove off.”

“Shut the hell up,” Wyatt growled, the subject still painful.

Ignoring Wyatt, Flynn continued, “It took you, what, only 20 minutes until you cooled down, came back for her. By then she was gone. Never came home that night. Or any night. Not until two weeks later when they found her, strangled in the bushes. But hey,” Flynn shrugged, “Maybe it’s not such a bad thing? If Jessica never died, where would you and Lucy be? Hmm?”

“I said shut the hell up!” Wyatt yelled, willing to do anything to get Flynn to stop talking.

Raising a finger, Flynn again ignored Wyatt and said, “But see, that’s just the beginning of what Lucy has to say. _Wyatt was obsessed with her death. Sometimes I worry he still is. That he never moved on. That he still loves her. That he loves her more than me. That he will always love Jessica more than me._” Holding the journal in front of Wyatt, Flynn showed him the pages. Pasted to one side was a news article from right after the murder. Wyatt recognized as one of the ones that had been pinned to the wall in their new timeline. On the other page, was Lucy’s familiar handwriting, spelling out every word Flynn had read, and stained with tears. Pulling the journal back to him, Flynn continued, “I understand. It’s okay if you can’t let go. You can change history. _We _can change history. Somehow, someway, we can save the people we love.”

Her fears, Lucy’s fears, the ones Flynn read from the journal, hit Wyatt in the heart like a bullet. How long had been Lucy holding those thoughts in? Ever since they met? Why had she never told him? How could she even think that? But, a small part of Wyatt’s brain whispered, it wasn’t like he never asked those same questions, too. If Jessica hadn’t been killed, would he have Lucy? Would it matter? He knew he loved Lucy more than anything. He would kill for her; he would die for her. But what would he do if they came back to a timeline where Jess was alive? What would they do? Swallowing hard, Wyatt met Flynn’s eye, unwilling to let the other man see any weakness, even as his mind was reeling, filled with fears and doubts.

Smirking at the look on Wyatt’s face, Flynn said, “I’ll let you think about this for a while,” Rising from his seat, he slipped the journal back in his pocket, “Relax, make yourself comfortable, you only have so much time left.” Without another word, Flynn left Wyatt alone with his tumultuous thoughts.

* * *

It took longer than Wyatt would care to admit to pick the lock on his cuffs. In his defense, it was near impossible to tell which end of the nail was which, to find the keyhole, and to get the nail just so in order to free himself. When he finally heard the click of the cuffs opening, he let out a sigh of relief. One step closer to getting out, Wyatt told himself. As he had worked to unlock the cuffs, he came up with a plan for escape. Once the cuffs were loose, he called out, “Hey Flynn,” After a moment the door opened, and the terrorist walked in. Wyatt continued speaking once he had his desired company, “Let’s just say, if I believed you — big if — and Rittenhouse really is that dangerous…”

“Yeah?” Flynn pressed, walking further into the room, the door closed behind him.

“Well, there's got to be a way to take them out without destroying America. I mean, what you're doing It's kind of scorched earth, don't you think?” As Wyatt spoke, he remained seated, letting Flynn think he was still trapped. He needed to wait for the right moment to surprise Flynn.

Flynn replied, “Rittenhouse and America are so intertwined, sometimes it’s hard to tell one from the other. They’re a cancer.” The distant look that Wyatt had noticed before returned to Flynn’s eyes. His voice was gravely, serious, and it was clear that he had spent a great deal of time thinking about this, “There’s no other choice. To save the body, you have to attack the body.” When he finished speaking, he trained his eyes on Wyatt.

Meeting the terrorist strong stare, Wyatt said, “Well, then that settles it,” He paused for a moment and smirked, “I guess you really are a creep sociopath.” The words had barely left his lips before Wyatt surged from the chair, swinging out his right arm to punch Flynn. The terrorist ducked backwards, but Wyatt swung around, landing a solid punch with his left hand. In the millisecond it took Flynn to recover, Wyatt had grabbed the cuffs, still attached to his right wrist, and used them as an impromptu set of iron knuckles, slamming a fist into Flynn’s stomach. Flynn grunted, the wind knocked out of him, but he had no time to catch his breath. Grabbing his collar and shoulders, Wyatt choked him, slamming him into the wall in the process. He had the upper hand, but Flynn managed to punch him in the side of his head as they struggled. But Wyatt hadn’t subdued Flynn fast enough. They were making too much noise. One of Flynn’s goons heard them and burst into the room, gun in hand. Kneeing Flynn in the groin, Wyatt was able to get enough leverage to fling the larger man across the room, right into his armed henchman. Another man came into the room, also with his gun raised. Not giving him a chance, Wyatt plowed forward, slamming him into the hallway wall and causing the gun to go flying. With one hand around the man’s throat, Wyatt used his other to grab the wall sconce and smashed the glass against his opponent’s head, knocking him out. But as he had tousled with the man in the hall, the first guy who came to help Flynn had recovered. Grabbing Wyatt by the shoulder, he dragged the soldier back into the room. Wyatt struggled, trying to fight back, but the momentum of the fight led him to being body slammed against the floor. Wyatt groaned, pain radiating up his back. He moved to sit up, ready to continue the fight, but froze. Flynn was standing over him, a gun trained at his face.

"You have an hour left,” Flynn hissed, anger burning in his eyes and dripping from his voice.

Breathing heavily, Wyatt raised his hands in defeat. With a nod and a flick of his gun, Flynn silently told his goon to pick Wyatt up. The man hefted him up and, with a single shove, forced him back into his seat from before. Reluctantly, Wyatt complied, collapsing back into the chair. Once he was seated, the goon walked behind him. Harshly grasping Wyatt’s wrists, the henchman pulled them together. The scrap of metal against his skin and the distinct click told Wyatt that he was once more, cuffed to the chair. Beside him, Flynn paced, grasping the nail Wyatt had used between his fingers and the Watergate tape in his other hand. Coming to stand before him, Flynn crossed his arms, staring down at Wyatt with a look that seemed almost disappointed, “And that’s all the time we have,” He said.

One of Flynn’s other henchmen, who Wyatt hadn’t fought, came into the room. Just how many men did Flynn have working for him? Wyatt didn’t have time to dwell on that thought though, as a thousand other worries filled his head when the henchman said, “Lucy called the payphone.”

“What did she say?” Flynn asked, looking at Wyatt rather than the goon.

Smirking, the henchman also turned to Wyatt, “Said she got the document, even gave us an address. Just begged us not to hurt her precious husband.”

Wyatt snarled at the goon, making Flynn laugh. “No more daring escapes, Master Sergeant, Bill here will make sure of it,” Flynn warned. The henchman who had slammed Wyatt to the floor nodded and dropped down into the seat Flynn had occupied earlier that day. With a terse nod at Wyatt, Flynn turned on his heel and beckoned for his other goon to follow. The door shut behind them with a definitive click. Wyatt groaned, dropping his chin to his chest. He was trapped again, with even less hope of escape. Time was running out. Lucy was putting herself at risk. And there was nothing he could do.

* * *

It was hard to tell how much time had passed. Somewhere between fifteen minutes and half an hour, Wyatt guessed. The room had been silent since Flynn had left, apparently Bill wasn’t a big talker. Just as Wyatt was getting ready to goad Bill into a fight, a crash sounded from the floor below. The sound of something shattering soon followed. Grabbing his gun, Bill got up from his seat and opened the door. He slipped out quickly, not even giving Wyatt a chance to sneak a peek of the hall. As soon as the door slammed shut, Wyatt heard a noise coming from the window next to him. Snapping his neck, Wyatt turned to look. Despite being on the second story of the former hotel, the window was being opened. Wyatt watched in amazement, and then amusement, as Lucy pried the window open, climbed in, and collapsed to the ground when she tripped over the edge. He had never been so relieved to see her.

Scrambling up, Lucy hurried to him, “Oh my god, are you okay?” She asked, reaching out a hand toward a bruise that was forming above his eyebrow from the earlier fight.

Pulling his head away from her touch, in part because of the urgency of the situation and in part because of the anger from earlier reigniting at the sight of her, Wyatt replied, “Yeah, he’s coming back soon. There’s a nail in the trash can, get it.”

"Okay,” Lucy nodded, hurrying over to where Wyatt had nodded his head. “Okay, I got it. Oh my god, it’s so small.”

"Hurry,” Wyatt urged. She dropped down to her knees behind Wyatt, trying to pick the lock herself. “What are you doing?” Wyatt asked, “You can’t pick a lock!”

Panicked, Lucy replied, “I was just trying to be helpful.”

“Put it in my hand,” Wyatt snapped, knowing they were racing against the clock. She dropped the nail in his hand and stood up. As he started working the lock, Lucy walked in front of him, keeping her eyes trained on the door. Footsteps could be heard coming down the hall, raising the tension in the air. Luckily, picking the lock went faster than before. In less than a minute, Wyatt was out of the cuffs.

Pushing Lucy towards the backroom, Wyatt slammed against the door with his full weight, right as Bill came back to the room. Thanks to the earlier fight, Wyatt knew what to expect from his opponent. Knowing that Bill relied on his height, Wyatt kicked one of his knees, causing the other man to drop down a little. In the same move, Wyatt slammed his elbow against Bill’s throat, pinning him against the wall. Bill scrambled against him, trying to fight back, but Wyatt had the upper hand. As Bill reached for his gun, Wyatt slammed his elbow up into his nose. The burst of pain served as enough of a distraction for Bill that Wyatt was able to get his hand on the gun. A shot rang through the room. The bullet had gone into Bill’s leg. Bill dropped to the floor, allowing Wyatt to knee him directly in the face. As Bill collapsed to the floor, bleeding and unconscious, Wyatt turned back to the bathroom where Lucy was.

He froze for a second, looking at her. Lucy, in her panic, had grabbed a lamp and was holding it up, ready to use it as a weapon. “You good?” She asked, still holding the lamp in the air, despite their opponent already being knocked out.

“Yeah,” Wyatt said, giving her a small smile. No matter how angry he was, he couldn’t help but love her. Who else in this situation would have tried to pick a lock, just to be helpful or grab a lamp to use in a fight? She was incredible, even after finding out about the journal and her thoughts about Jess, Wyatt thought.

“Okay,” Lucy panted, relieved, she carefully placed the lamp down and scrambled out of the room, Wyatt following close behind.

* * *

Never in his life had Wyatt felt more betrayed. Rufus spying on the team was one thing, but Lucy lying? It was like a knife through Wyatt’s gut. Especially after the Alamo. After everything he had told her, after her promising how much she trusted him, she had still been walking around with the biggest secret of them all. Neither of them had kept secrets from the other before, not really. There were things Wyatt held back about his deployments, but he never kept secrets. As far as Wyatt knew, Lucy had never kept a secret from him before the journal. But how could he be sure? If she could walk around for weeks knowing that Flynn had a journal she wrote, if she could have conversations with a terrorist and not tell him, what stopped her from keeping over things from him? How much was Wyatt in the dark about?

With thousands of thoughts swirling through his mind and a dull ache caused by the betrayal settling in Wyatt’s stomach, the trip back to the present was tense. He had made it clear to Rufus that he was to keep spying. He had made it clear to Lucy that he was angry. But he couldn’t do much more than that. When they got back to Mason Industries, Wyatt didn’t speak to either of them. For the first time he climbed out of the time machine before Lucy. If he looked at her any longer, he was either going to scream or cry and Wyatt had no interest in doing either of those in public. After the debrief, Wyatt changed into his modern clothing in record time, not interested in hanging around any longer. At his car, he let out a sigh of relief. Because he and Lucy had come separately the morning before, he was able to drive him alone. He needed to think, and the drive home gave him that. Driving had always calmed Wyatt down. He had always been good at driving, even as a kid when there was nothing else, he could do, he was a master behind the wheel. Clearing his thoughts, Wyatt drove aimlessly around the city until the early evening, struggling to process everything he had learned. Rittenhouse. Rufus. Lucy. It was all too much. She was his _wife_. His best friend. And she had been hiding the truth from him. Lying to him. Before Lucy, everyone in his life had lied to him. His mom, saying she would come back. His dad, for saying he’d quit drinking. Grandpa Sherwin, saying that he’d get Wyatt out. Jess, for saying that she was loyal. Lies. All of them had lied. But Lucy. She had never lied to him. Never. Not until this.

When the sun was finally dipping below the skyline and Wyatt pulled up to the apartment complex, Lucy was already home. He walked past her parked car as he entered, already dreading the fight they were about to have. Opening the door to their apartment, Wyatt found her sitting on the couch, her face buried in her hands. At the sound of him coming in, her head shot up. In an instant, she was rising from the couch, apologizing as she stood, “Wyatt, please let me explain.”

“I don’t want an explanation Lucy,” He said, walking into their bedroom. She followed after him, pleading for him to listen, but he ignored her. Instead he reached into their closet and pulled down a spare blanket and pillow. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say. There is nothing you could say that would make this okay.” Walking past her, he went back into their living room, dropping the blanket and pillow on the couch. It was where he was planning on sleeping for the foreseeable future.

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” Lucy tried to explain.

“Then why did you?” Wyatt snapped angrily, “Why didn’t you tell me after the first mission? Or the second? Or any time before now? Why did I need to learn about your little chats with Flynn from the wanted terrorist himself? Why did I have to hear him read your words to me from a journal I had _no idea existed_?”

Voice breaking with emotion, Lucy replied, “Because I was scared, Wyatt.”

“That’s not a good enough answer,” He said, turning to her, “We are a _team_ we don’t lie to each other. We don’t keep secrets. Not if we’re scared. Not if we’re angry. Never. And you kept this from me.”

"What was I supposed to do?”

“Talk to me!” Wyatt yelled, fully releasing his rage, “Come to me! I am your fucking husband! What does that mean if you’re keeping this shit from me! Especially after this morning! How could you sit with me, have me pour out my heart, and not tell me? How could you tell me you love me, you trust me, and not tell me? Does it mean nothing to you?”

Tears began pooling at the corner of Lucy’s eyes, causing Wyatt’s heart to ache at the sight, when she said, “I didn’t mean to keep it from you, Wy, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“But you did keep it from me,” Wyatt replied, his voice dark, “Not only did you lie, you put us in danger. You put us at risk. I’m not sure if I can forgive you for this, Lucy. I can barely even look at you right now! I have _never_ been so angry!”

Turning on her heel, Lucy marched toward the apartment door, grabbing her jacket as she did, “Fine! Then don’t look at me! If you won’t listen, then I won’t stay! No need to sleep on the couch then, right?” Before Wyatt could respond, Lucy was leaving, purse in hand, and slamming the door behind her.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Wyatt all but collapsed against the closed door, leaning his forehead against it. Silently, he started crying. How had he become the bad guy in the fight, Wyatt wondered. More importantly, how would they ever get past this?

* * *

Anxiously, Lucy waited on the doorstep. She was fiddling with her purse strap, trying to hold in what few tears she had left. When the door opened, Lucy let out a small sob, “Mom, I really messed up.”

The angry look that Carol seemed to wear every time Lucy saw her since the timeline shift faded, replaced by a concerned expression Lucy was familiar with. “Oh, sweetie,” Carol replied, stepping forward and pulling Lucy into a hug.

As soon as she was in the safety of her mother’s arms, Lucy started weeping. Clinging to what little comfort she had left. Despite their fight, despite being kicked out, her mother was still there for her, whispering comforting promises against her hair and protecting her with a warm embrace.

“I am always here for you,” Carol promised, as she led Lucy into the house, “Even with everything going on, I’m here for you.” Lucy sniffled, nodding, as she followed her mom into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering why Carol let Lucy back in so easily, it's easier to manipulate your daughter into joining the family cult when you aren't fighting with her, right? Don't worry though, the Carol drama is far from over.
> 
> I had so much fun writing this chapter primarily from Wyatt's point of view, despite how hard this chapter was to write.
> 
> As always, reviews and kudos are greatly appreciated! I'll try to get the next chapter up faster, but I can't promise anything.


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